Warcraft: Zelda's Legend
by allen.bair
Summary: In the aftermath of the events chronicled in "The Craft of War", the world of Azeroth struggles to come to grips with their new reality and a new, reborn and unified Kingdom of Lordaeron ruled by a very living elven queen who is one of the few who knows the secret of the Golden Flame, and their secret history as recorded in the mysterious Zelda's Legend. An alternate Warcraft World
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The King of Stormwind sat pensively and tensely across the golden lion engraved wooden table from his very important, invited guest and her mix of human and elven councilors. His long, dark brown hair had been washed, conditioned with some softening potion, well combed, and tied back into a ponytail fashionably by the royal barber. The Light knew he couldn't do it half as well for himself. For the occasion, he forewent his intimidating eagle and lion plate armor and wore instead blue, white, and gold robes more befitting statecraft than warcraft.

If he were to be honest, however, the armor chafed him less than the robes and finery. Somehow he didn't feel comfortable without his great elven blade Shalamayne at his back. But some battles had to be fought with words, and no fences could be mended with swords. And there were many fences which needed to be mended. Decades worth.

It had been a long, long time since any of the northern elven folk had been welcome in what was no longer the sole remaining human kingdom of Azeroth. But these were different times, and this was no ordinary elf woman sitting in the azure and gold decorated council chambers of Stormwind Keep.

Her long, fair skinned tapered ears came up through slits in the blue hood and cloak of what were the high elven rangers once upon a time. Indeed, once upon a time, she had been their general, a hero by every account who had sacrificed her life on the field of battle for her people, only to have her noble death stolen from her and twisted into some hellish nightmare by a demon who had stolen the light blessed form of the man who had been his foster brother.

But now her fair, flawless skin was restored from the deathly, corpse-like gray. Her golden blond hair was radiant with the light of the sun. And her light blue eyes radiated with the innate life and magic of her people. In spite of himself, he could not help but look at her and drink in her elegant, graceful beauty like a thirsty man cold, clear water.

 _No_ , Varian Wrynn thought, _no ordinary elf woman at all._

The delegation of humans and _Sindorei,_ over fifty strong, from Lordaeron had come from the northern lands by his invitation as a single people aboard a small fleet of three Sindorei destroyer craft which bore a single standard of red, gold, and purple as well as the sigils of truce and negotiation. This new standard depicted a great bird of fire like those he had heard of from far off lands rising from its own ashes.

For these people, who had undergone such a dramatic fall and resurrection by still unknown, powerful magics it seemed fitting. It had been several months since the still obscure events had transpired in Northrend to bring about such a transformation on both the people and the lands of the northeastern continent of their world. They had been allies long ago when he was a boy, before the plague had devastated the northern kingdoms and brought about the monstrosities of the scourge. And now, he believed, it was time for the former Alliance allies to put aside their differences like they had in the past to rebuild those human and elven lands and fight their common enemies.

At least that was what the king of Stormwind had hoped for.

The Lady had been silent since she had entered the room, her own face still partially obscured under her hood, allowing her advisers and companions to exchange the require pleasantries. Instead she took the time to study the room, the guards and royal advisers, and of course the human warrior king himself.

Having been a pit fighter himself in another lifetime, he knew when he was being sized up by an opponent looking for his weaknesses.

No, this wouldn't go at all as he had originally envisioned.

"Forsaken." She let the word drop and fall to the floor as though a heavy metal ball striking cement. Though spoken almost quietly, it rang throughout the white stone and azure blue curtained chamber.

It was the first word he had heard her utter since her arrival. "Forsaken" had been the name her people had taken as undead monsters and horrors who had managed to free themselves from the demon driven Lich King and former prince of Lordaeron.

The steely look in the regal, beautiful elf woman's eyes told King Varian Wrynn that it would definitely not be the conversation he had hoped for. He had envisioned Stormwind assisting the north to return it to its former glory. But the Lady's eyes obliterated any hope of that notion.

"Abandoned." She then added. The cold steel never left her eyes. "Our entire people, elves and humans alike abandoned by their kin and supposed 'allies' because of the plague, because we were diseased. Our rights to our own lands revoked. A 'holy crusade' waged against us. Men and women, human and elf alike whether alive or undead hunted by those who were supposed to be our own flesh and blood."

Anger burned in those blue eyes he couldn't look away from. It was an anger of a monarch responsible for the lives of a nation, and whose people had been grossly offended. He knew that look very well. It was one he had seen in his own scarred reflection in the mirror more than once.

Varian Wrynn had no answer to her charges as she appeared to wait for one. How could he? To be fair, he himself had not been in direct command of Stormwind or the Alliance due to circumstances beyond his control. The decisions which had been made regarding the undead inhabitants of the northern kingdom had rested in the hands of the council of nobles and military commanders who saw only Scourge.

"Do you speak for your own people only? Or for the humans of Lordaeron as well, Lady?" He finally asked.

She put her gauntleted hands on the table. Each finger of the sapphire and gold armored gloves terminated in a golden metal, razor sharp claw.

"The Royal Family of Silvermoon is dead. Prince Kael'thas' followers have all answered for their foolishness. The Royal Families of Lordaeron and Stromgarde no longer exist in any capacity. Both elven and human kingdoms have sworn their allegiance to my rule." She returned. "So let there be no misunderstanding. I speak for all the people of Lordaeron and Quel'Thalas, Varian Wrynn, elf and human alike as their sovereign queen." She emphasized each word of her statement and let the implications of it hang in the air.

"I doubt the Gilnean refugees would support that statement, _your majesty_." The king of Stormwind returned, his voice edged with sarcasm.

He had a special relationship with and respect for the Gilneans after their own kindness in helping him reconcile his two very different natures. He had hoped to eventually bring King Greymane into these discussions… after he had ascertained the position of the former "Forsaken".

The Lady's face hardened even further at the verbal slap.

"What I did, I did for the continued existence of my people. I will not apologize to you or anyone for that." She retorted, her eyes dark and hard as obsidium.

She then folded her clawed hands on the table politely and said sweetly like poisoned candy, "I did not come here to argue with you about the past, _your majesty_." She let those words roll off her own tongue with the same tone Varian himself had used. "I came to set to conditions of our truce."

Truce? Like so many others, he had assumed there would be a radical shift in power under the new circumstances the world of Azeroth found itself in.

"Conditions of our truce?" King Wrynn asked. "Exactly what do you mean?"

"The Kingdoms of Stormwind, Ironforge, and the Kaldorei will not cross the Thandol Span into Lordaeron. All of your Alliance forces will retreat south back into their native lands. All humans of Lordaeron who wish to go with them are free to do so, though I do not believe many will. We will keep our border at this crossing and will not seek to cross south. Do not attempt to violate our lands or take them from us again." Her demands were concise and to the point.

"Now wait just a minute," Varian's temper began to flare, "You're going to need help to rebuild. You'll need seed, and equipment. You'll need trading partners. Damn woman, if nothing else you'll need breeding stock to rebuild your people, and I don't mean the animals to be frank. And don't you think families will want to be reunited after so long?"

There was also the matter of Stormwind's own homeless population which had congregated in the province of Westfall. The truth was, he had a mind to encourage many of them to move north to provide them a fresh start and the north with a larger human presence than was already there. That discussion appeared to be postponed indefinitely.

"Oh?" She asked, her voice going cold. "And where were they for the last few decades when we truly needed them?"

"You were all walking corpses!" His voice raised. "How in the name of the Light did you expect us to react?"

He began to regret leaving his sword out of the room.

She sat back in her chair, steepled her clawed hands, and smiled. But it was not a warm smile. It brought the icy chill of death to Varian's spine even as he couldn't bring himself to look away.

"We have allies and help enough, fear not, on all of your points. There were some in this world who not only did not abandon us, but actively sought to help us. Thunderbluff and Orgrimmar have proven themselves our friends time and again." She told him.

The human king couldn't believe what he was hearing. Humans willingly siding with the Horde along with the elves?

Her tone then became more pragmatic and warmed ever so slightly. "However, you are correct. We have a nation to rebuild and refit for our new situation. As you put so bluntly, we have children to produce, crops to grow, and villages to restore across Lordaeron if we are to continue. We merely ask that you leave us alone, and we will give you the same courtesy, regardless of what the warchief in Orgrimmar demands." She then told him matter of factly. "They have been our friends, but they will not be our masters any more than you will."

"Garrosh Hellscream would not be pleased to hear you say such things." Varian observed.

"I do not care what that lumbering green oaf in Orgrimmar thinks." The Lady retorted just a little harshly, and then her voice resumed a more diplomatic tone. "I will speak with him when the time comes."

 _So there is to be a major shift in power in the world, then._ He thought to himself. _Just not the one anyone was expecting._

"So then nothing has really changed between us?" He asked.

"On the contrary," she replied, "you no longer appear to have a reason to want us truly dead. I would say much has changed. Whether or not we feel the same way will depend much on your adherence to our terms."

"So that's it then? Why did you come here, your majesty?" He asked her, though he gave her the title with more respect.

"To let you know where we stand, your majesty. We will not be for you or the Alliance, but if you leave us alone, we will not be against you either." She told him.

He nodded his understanding. A part of him could even respect her position.

And then she added, almost as an afterthought, "Oh, and you needn't be concerned about our supply of plague canisters. They are safe and secure in the belly of the Undercity. I certainly wouldn't want any of them to make their way down here and be unleashed on your people. It would be terrible if your kingdom had to experience the same nightmare that we did, don't you think?"

King Varian Wrynn's eyebrows raised as he understood her meaning loud and clear. He own advisers behind him began to murmur and whisper behind him with alarmed looks on their faces. They had understood as well.

"There was no need to threaten us, your majesty." He retorted.

"Did I?" She asked innocently, though her eyes told another story. "I don't recall doing so, but if you say so..."

Varian sat back in his blue padded seat trying to compose himself at the woman's audacity. He felt he was doing an extraordinary job of containing himself at the demon elf woman's audacity. However, he knew what their plague could do. And he knew she didn't make idle threats. Hillsboro was proof of that. Finally, he sighed in exasperation, letting out a deep breath he didn't realize he was holding in.

"Then we have nothing further to discuss, I see." He responded tersely.

"I'm glad we understand one another." The Lady Sylvanas Windrunner, Queen of a United Lordaeron, told him. "I hope we continue to see our way so clearly on such matters of state."

"Indeed." He replied, wondering if the elf woman's dead heart really had restarted.

Behind his queen, Lord Commander Arete stood in his black plate armor stroking his new growth of raven colored facial hair with equally new flesh and blood fingers. He remained silent as the two monarchs "negotiated", as did the rest of his queen's entourage which had accompanied her into the council chamber.

He shared his queen's sentiments, as he knew the rest of their people did. They did not need Stormwind or any other "Alliance" nation to thrive. They had survived death itself and been reborn. What more than that could the fates throw at them?

And then she mentioned the plague canisters.

It shouldn't have disturbed him. He _felt_ the not so subtle threat shouldn't have disturbed him. It wouldn't have disturbed him months ago, before the rebirth. He would have dropped the canisters over Stormwind with relish had she ordered it then.

But now such a thought disturbed him greatly. It caused a sick feeling within his stomach, and a pain in his heart at the thought.

 _Would I really carry out such an order as this on them and their children?_

He had seen many children since leaving the Lordaeron ship at Stormwind's dock. They were laughing and playing either with each other or with other, human adults. It had been the first time he had seen any living children at all for a long, long time. They were the guarantee of a future, and if their own people were to survive, they would have to produce many, many of their own, sowing the seeds of their own future.

The King of Stormwind graciously invited his queen and her entourage to stay in quarters prepared for them in the Keep. He sensed no ill intent in the man, only a weariness, and a new wariness for them. Though he could not say the same for the look in the eyes of King Wrynn's own advisors.

His queen declined the offer with an equal graciousness, choosing instead for them to return to their own quarters aboard the ships that brought them there. Under the circumstances, it was likely the wiser course of action.

As his queen rose to leave, he and the others fell in line behind her. He held no fear for her safety here. His queen was formidable in battle herself. Indeed, he would still not wish to be the one to challenge her in battle, not would he wish it on anyone else.

Upon their return to the ship, he requested to speak with her out of the hearing of the others in her cabin. It was a request that she patiently granted, though he could see the weariness in her own face and limbs. None of them were used to the mortal necessities of rest yet. It was something of a necessary annoyance.

His queen's cabin was spartan. In her undeath she chose few luxuries for herself, and she appeared to see no need for them now either. There was only a bunk with a feather mattress and accompanying bedding. A table with scrolls, charts, and books sat bolted to the floor across from the bed. And not much else adorned her quarters. He wondered if her chambers in the Undercity remained as spartan as this while her new private quarters were undergoing repair in Lordaeron's ruins on the surface. This had been one significant change with her rebirth. She wanted to be closer to the sun and the fresh air almost constantly now.

"What is it you wish to speak to me about, Lord Commander?" She asked. Her tone was still regal, but much warmer than the one which she used with the King of Stormwind. Her eyes were more welcoming and open to him.

He almost did not wish to bring it up, but he couldn't reconcile it within himself.

"My queen, you know I would not question your decisions or your orders." He began.

"And yet?" She asked.

"I find myself… disturbed by the threat you made. Before the rebirth I would have not thought twice about using the plague on our enemies, but now… Would you really give such an order upon these people? Upon… Upon the children we have seen today?" His own voice faltered uncharacteristically.

The hardened look returned to her eyes for just a moment, and then disappeared to be replaced by a searching.

"I am sorry my queen..." He began to retract his question.

"Don't be." She told him. "It is a fair question. I hope my answer is equally fair. Yes, I would give such an order if, and only if, Stormwind chooses to ignore our conditions. Since you have been honest with me, Arete, I will be honest with you. I have no desire to kill children, or subject them to the plague any more than you do. And I do not forget that launching the canisters at our enemies potentially exposes our own people to the plague once again. We have no need for such recourse to continue our race any longer. Instead we must produce more children, not less; elf, human, and combinations of both if we are to survive. But we cannot focus on that if we must continuously defend our sovereignty against the incursions of the south. We have been slaves of the Scourge. We have been under the thumb of the Horde. And we have been betrayed and abandoned by these..." She gestured towards the direction of the city. "No more. We will be enslaved or beholden to no one any longer. The continued existence, and threat, of the plague canisters ensures this."

Her beautifully wrought face then took on a much warmer, and more familiar expression with him. "Does this answer your question to your satisfaction, Lord Commander?"

The Death Knight nodded, seeing her logic. "Yes, my queen. I understand better now. Thank you for your patience with me."

He gave a respectful bow towards her and made to leave her presence when she addressed him again.

"I have not given you leave yet to go, Lord Commander." She stopped him.

"Is there something more you require of me, your majesty?" He asked, confused.

"Not yet, but perhaps in the future." She replied, somewhat cryptically.

Indeed, her own expression seemed somewhat confused as though she wasn't sure herself why she stopped him.

"My queen?" He asked, his own face somewhat confused.

Her eyes averted from his as she seemed to be trying to focus her own thoughts. There was an uncomfortable pause and then she looked at him again, her confidence and regal grace restored. She appeared to be studying him, though for what reason he couldn't say.

"We must all produce children if we are to truly rebuild, Lord Commander. All of us. Consider this." She finally told him.

"Yes, my queen." He replied, not certain of what she was trying to tell him.

After another uncomfortable minute, she then dismissed him. "You may go, Lord Commander."

He bowed again and left her cabin trying to sort through the strange, non-conversation he had held at the end with his monarch.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"TRAITOROUS BITCH!" The warchief's howl could be heard throughout Orgrimmar. "I'LL RIP HER DAMN HEAD OFF AND FEED HER ENTRAILS TO MY WORGS!"

Garrosh Hellscream continued like this for over an hour, swearing and damning the elven queen to every hell he could possibly think of while those Kor'kron guards and advisers of his within Grommash Hold were made to suffer and listen to it. It didn't matter that she was not present to receive his vicious abuse. Instead she had sent a written message which had to be read to the massive orc warrior by a courier.

"SHE DOESN'T EVEN DEIGN TO TELL ME THIS HERSELF! COWARDLY DEMON WITCH!" He continued his rant.

The Lady Sylvanas Windrunner's letter had been straightforward and to the point:

 _Warchief,_

 _We no longer have need of your Kor'kron guards or orc forces in Lordaeron. I have secured an agreement with Stormwind that they will remove their own forces from our lands now that they have no reason to press an offensive against us._

 _The peoples of United Lordaeron intend to retain full diplomatic relations with the Horde and will offer lumber and other newly available natural resources in trade for supplies and equipment to assist in our rebuilding._

 _We request that you remove all Horde military presence from our lands within the week. In return, we will continue to keep our supply of plague canisters safely secured within the vaults of the Undercity. Diplomats, merchants, and tradesmen are more than welcome to remain and find employment within our borders._

 _All further joint military actions between Lordaeron and the Horde will be carefully reviewed by myself and my advisers. Due to our non-aggression agreement with the Alliance, military action against Alliance forces will not be considered at this time._

 _We look forward to fair and equal trade partnership with Orgrimmar._

 _Signed,_

 _Sylvanas Windrunner, Queen of Lordaeron and Quel'thalas._

Much of the warchief's yelling became directed towards Ambassador Dawnsinger and her delegation from Silvermoon.

"I demand an explanation for this treason, elf!" The warchief's eyes were burning with rage. "I will burn Silvermoon to the ground for this!"

The red haired Sindorei ambassador from the elven capital returned the massive orc's gaze placidly and with a practiced calm. She knew the unstable orc's rages could be devastating if not managed carefully.

"There is no treason, warchief. Our nation still remains a firm supporter and partner with the Horde regardless of the changes in our situation. Our queen was only affirming that we no longer needed your generous detachment of troops to maintain our security. Surely valuable Horde soldiers such as you lent us could be put to better use elsewhere now that there is no threat to us from the south? And our forests are now alive again and teeming with lumber which can be harvested for use here in Durotar upon a fair trade agreement, thus removing the need for further conflict in Ashenvale. We only ask that the Horde respect our sovereignty in the same way that we will respect the sovereignty of Orgrimmar." She told him as calmly, and as smoothly as she could.

"Don't use your silken words on me, blood elf!" He retorted. "I am not so stupid as to miss the threat she made. She would dare use her damned plague on us?!"

"She made no mention of using the plague canisters on anyone, warchief." Ambassador Dawnsinger replied without missing a beat. "Indeed, she only wished to reassure you that..."

He cut her off.

"I know what she wished to 'reassure' me of, elf." He told her.

Garrosh rubbed his massive, brownish green hand over his shaved head in frustration as he stalked the pedestal where he had established the massive iron throne of the warchief. He turned his head and pointed his light brown eyes towards the elven delegation several times and glared at them. The enormous muscles under his tattooed skin flexed and tensed as he worked through the message.

Finally, he turned back to the Silvermoon delegation and told them, "You are dismissed. You and your kind will leave Orgrimmar and return to your lands by the end of the day. All of you. I don't want to see another blood elf or forsaken human in this city ever again."

Her face impassive, Ambassador Dawnsinger nodded and replied, "As you wish, warchief. What message do you wish me to take back to our queen?"

"Tell her to keep her damn lumber. Ashenvale and Azshara have all we need. Tell her as well neither she nor any cowards from your damned eastern lands are welcome in Orgrimmar." He told her, spitting on the floor in contempt.

"I will tell her, word for word, warchief." The ambassador replied evenly. She then gave a nod of her head, and with the rest of their people's delegation, exited the warchief's dark and brooding throne room.

When they were gone, an aged, silver headed orc with a look of wisdom in his eyes, turned towards his warchief to advise him. He took a deep breath before opening his mouth and let it out slowly as he composed what he intended to say. He doubts this young warchief would agree with him, but he promised Thrall he would advise him in his true warchief's absence.

"I would advise caution on this matter, warchief, and patience. The elf queen has not broken ties with us completely, nor did she express any desire to." Eitrigg told the younger orc. "In time, I am certain our full cooperation with their people will be restored. Her proposals are reasonable, if somewhat tactless."

"Oh, yes. We remove our own soldiers from Hammerfall, Taren Mill, and every other outpost we fought to maintain while she romps between the sheets with Varian Wrynn! Very reasonable indeed." Garrosh mocked him. "The cowardly Alliance vermin can only be dealt with by extermination, Eitrigg. You should know that by now."

Eitrigg knew no such thing. It had been an Alliance Paladin who had sacrificed everything he held dear and went against his own people to preserve the old orc's life. He continued to call the human "brother" to this day. But today was not the day to remind the young warchief of those facts.

"They will soon see who the more honorable allies are, warchief, just as they did before. Accede to her demands now, and it will not be long before her human and elven troops are fighting side by side with our own again." Eitrigg counseled. A thought then occurred to him that might give the reckless youth an incentive he would better like, "Consider the benefits of having Lordaeron humans eventually under the Horde's command. They could slip into Stormwind or any Alliance city without so much as a glance."

Garrosh had been about to retort when his aged counselor's last comment gave him pause. After a minute of thought, and much of his anger spent for the moment, he told his adviser, "I will consider it, old man. But we must make certain their loyalties fall towards us. We must also make certain their plague weapons can never be held over our heads again. Since your head is full of wisdom, I will leave the details to you as to how this will be accomplished."

"Of course, warchief." Eitrigg responded.

"Because if it is not, the Undercity will feel the full wrath of the Horde for its damned betrayal." Garrosh warned menacingly. "I promise this."

 _The young fool will find enemies where none need be found._ Eitrigg thought to himself as he drew his fist to his breast in salute to his warchief. _A war without need is a war without honor._ _I must speak with Sylvanas Windrunner myself if we are to keep these things from entrenching this world in yet another honorless war._

"Permit me then to travel to Lordaeron myself as your 'goodwill ambassador,' warchief." Eitrigg requested.

Garrosh waved a hand at him dismissively, and Eitrigg took it as permission granted.

Sweat rolled off of the athletically muscled orc woman's greenish brown forehead as her opponent swung at her furiously and expertly with twin swords. A long, raven black warrior's braid protruded from the back of her otherwise shaved head. Her green and purple dragonscale brassiere, legplates, boots, shoulderplates, and gauntlets glistened in the morning sunlight as she dodged the creature's attacks, and returned several blows with her own long, broad blade with its emerald pommel. Emerald energies danced around the sword as it moved with a blinding speed.

The stone elemental creature was fast, faster than it should have been. Her arms and legs moved to meet each attack, but only just. It pushed Shaggara's own reflexes to their limits as the Sword of Mastery met each swipe or thrust of the lethally sharp twin blades and bit into the rock hide of her attacker.

She was still not used to fighting with the sword. Her own warrior's instincts had relied on her twin mithril axes most of her life. Her muscle memory was programmed for the feel of both of them in her hands. But they were lost, victims to an undead dragon which now rested at the bottom of the great sea surrounding the northern continent.

She felt like only half the warrior she should be with one hand empty, and she couldn't bring herself to use the Masterguard Shield she had been given. It had been presented to her as a gift for her part in the defeat and banishment of Sargeras from their world months ago. She had no skill for it, even though some had tried to instruct her in its use as both a defense and an offensive weapon. Her muscles rebelled at the attempt. It sat unused in the corner, being set against the wall of the room she found herself in that morning.

The platform on which they fought had been otherwise empty at that time of the morning. The sun had just come over the horizon and the whole of Northrend's majestic landscape could be seen. It had been a truly dazzling and inspiring sight for her to wake to.

She dodged and rolled to the side to avoid being cut in two, and attempted to slice at the elemental's back as she came to her feet again but missed. Her sword just barely came up in time to meet the slice that would have severed the top half of her skull from the bottom. She swung and felt the tip of the blade strike stone, though it would have only been a scratch even on a mortal opponent.

Leaping backwards she roared ferociously at the creature, exposing her well developed though diminutively feminine tusks and charged it. The creature remained passive and unimpressed as it assumed a stance meant to counter such a move.

The outline of three solid, golden triangles formed on her left hand as she leaped at the creature, stretching out her free hand to use the creature's own stone formed head to vault over it. Landing on her feet behind it, without conscious thought, she spun and brought her sword around to meet the creature's unprotected torso with devastating effect.

The creature's stone form exploded from the full force of the Blade of Nature's Wrath.

Shaggara viewed the destruction of the golem with satisfaction, though not without some disappointment in herself. She resheathed the sword in it's scabbard at her back and walked calmly to the edge of the circular platform where a golden railing ran its circumference. A skin of water sat waiting for her as she snatched it up and drank thirstily gazing at the wonders of the wild nature of the landscape below her.

The platform protruded from the height of her mate's—"husband's" she reminded herself—mage's tower in the city of Dalaran which hovered thousands of feet above the surface of the northernmost continent of the world of Azeroth. It had belonged to his previous master, and after that mage's death had legally passed to the only apprentice he had ever taken, an undead mage of exceptional potential known as Gereth.

After the extraordinary events which had changed their world forever, that mage's plagued undeath had been lifted and he had been restored to the human man he had been before the Scourge had devasted his own home of Andorhal in the kingdom of Lordaeron. It had also restored her youth to her, making her physically the same age as her dearest friend and now… husband.

She was technically fifty three years old; middle, even old aged for an orc. In spite of this, her body sported tight, well defined muscles, clear and unwrinkled skin, and all the physical attributes one might expect from an orc female less than half her age. The same age her… husband was now physically as well, not having approached even his twenty fifth year before the plague had originally taken him.

 _Husband_. What a strange word that was to her, and even stranger still was the ritual the humans used to formalize their mating. It had meant much to Gereth, so she agreed to it, and stood with him before a human priest of the Light—Gereth's aged, human uncle no less—in a religious chapel within the mage's floating city to repeat words of commitment and devotion to each other.

As if mere words could guarantee one's faithfulness to one's mate.

It was not so with orcs. There were few formalities. An orc male brought his possessions into the dwelling of the orc female and they mated. No one questioned the validity of the mating, or the legitimacy of the children and their right to their father's name, much less the name of their clan. And once they mated, they were bound by blood and honor to each other. If the male mated with another, the female had the right to slay him and take another unbound male. It was a simple and pragmatic arrangement of orc culture which had worked for generations.

 _Humans can be an impractical and ritualistic lot._ She grinned at the thought.

The back of her left hand itched with a mild burning sensation. As she brought the waterskin away from her lips, she looked at the now familiar three triangles which glowed dimly through her emerald scaled gauntlet. They had begun to glow like this now every morning, though she didn't know what that meant.

 _I wish you would have stayed to teach me more of your "legend," my friend._ Shaggara thought to herself as she gazed at the glowing marks. _I hope you and your mate are well wherever you are, Zelda. I hope you are happy._

Behind her she heard a rumbling and the scraping of stone. She turned casually towards it to see the broken and shattered bits of rock reassemble themselves piece by piece until the stone elemental she had just destroyed was whole once more.

It was humanoid in form, though it was designed so as not to appear to be any one race. It stood on two legs and with two arms with anatomically correct fingers and proportions for most of the intelligent peoples on her world.

It stood up straight and faced her. It brought the sword in its left hand up to its breast in a salute before taking it away again. Then it assumed a battle stance and appeared to be waiting for her to do the same.

"We are done this morning, Rygax." Shaggara told the elemental in her raspy, orcish voice.

The elemental appeared to relax and then bent over to lay its swords on the ground. When it drew itself back up, the lips which had been carved into the face on the head began to move and it sounded like scraping stone as a deep, hollow voice emanated from it.

"Of course, mistress Shaggara. You fought well today. I was unable to land any blows. Perhaps I will succeed better tomorrow." The elemental told her.

"You did well, Rygax. It is I who was too slow. It took too long for me to beat you the second time. I need more practice with this blade." She told it.

"Perhaps if you used a second blade you might feel more comfortable sparring with it?" The elemental offered.

"Perhaps, but I know of no other blade in this world that could complement it. It is quite unique." She replied.

"Tomorrow then, mistress?" The elemental asked.

"Tomorrow." Shaggara agreed with a smile.

The stone elemental then moved to a nook against the stone wall and, crossing the twin swords against its chest, stood with its back facing the wall becoming little more than a generic martial statue, albeit one with a slight smile upon its features as though it were looking forward to something.

Rygax had been a gift to her from Gereth for their mating. The elemental was a sparring partner to keep her warrior's reflexes honed and trained in a city of scholars and sorcerers where such skills were rarely, if ever valued. Through her sparring, Rygax also provided a psychological release for the orc warrior woman. Without the stone warrior to fight with, she might have gone insane.

There was simply little if anything for her to _do_ in Dalaran.

The tower's elemental guardians waited on Gereth and herself hand and foot. Anything they needed was provided for nearly instantaneously. The signs of elven luxury abounded everywhere she looked in the tower and around the city when she went out.

At first she thought she might enjoy the peace and lack of a need to fight and scrape for anything. She took a page from Gereth, literally, and began to teach herself from the books available and accessible to her in his former master's library. There was a wealth of knowledge and information on nearly anything anyone ever wanted to know that had existed, did exist, or might possibly exist somewhere.

But she was an orc. The need to fight, the feel of the blood rushing through her veins with the thrill of a hunt, the aggression which was innate to her people refused to be tamed. She loved her mate passionately, and she felt they both complemented each other wonderfully. But she was not him. She was not a mage, nor would she ever abandon the sword or axe for a wand or a mage's staff.

Even the magic of nature which she now somehow was able to wield, something only druids really understood, was foreign to her. This had been the subject of most of her studies in the library as she tried to understand the power and responsibility with which she had been charged by Ysera herself and Zelda. She had even engaged the tauren representative of the Cenarion Circle in Dalaran, a calm wise old bull named Fyah Grayhorn for any instruction he might be able to give. Some of it had been useful, but he openly told her that he could not teach her more without her introduction into the Cenarion Circle as an initiate druid, something which was unheard of for an orc.

In a very short span of time, her entire world had changed in every conceivable way and she found herself in a life and death struggle just to keep up with it and to not be overwhelmed. Her morning sessions with Rygax, lethal to her though they may eventually prove to be, were a welcome relief from it all.

"How did you manage it, my friends?" She asked into the empty air. She then raised her left gauntlet again and studied the mark which was still visible through it. "And how did you manage this over so many lifetimes?"

They had kept the existence of this golden power in there world secret from everyone but those who needed to know. Gereth, Shaggara, Gereth's uncle Garen, and the worgen druid Oliver Harris had all agreed and somehow managed to keep the existence of the Golden Flame and its new bearer hidden to all except one person who could see through Gereth's attempts at deflecting the question, and who owed her reborn life to the sacred triangle's power; Sylvanas Windrunner, the queen of the newly unified kingdom of Lordaeron. Surprisingly, the former elven ranger general, after being gracious towards them and seeing to it they lacked for nothing, had also promised to reveal its existence to no one. Even more so, she had kept her promise and made no demands on any of them, at least not yet.

Zelda's legend was still safe for the moment from the powers in their world which might abuse the divine relic which she carried within her. Its guardians apparently had a powerful friend in the former banshee queen. Though how she consolidated her power over both Lordaeron and Quel'Thalas so quickly was still something of a mystery, as was the fate of Silvermoon's former regent, Lor'themar, the queen's sister Vereesa having been elevated to that position in his place.

She did not make wishes. She had to be very careful with such things given the godlike power that she bore that forced reality itself to bend to her will. It was not to be engaged mindlessly. But if she could make a wish safely, she would wish her friends from the other world they called Hyrule would tell her what she was to do now and what her new role in this world was to be.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Eitrigg stepped through the shimmering blue field of the mage's portal onto a newly repaved, packed gravel road. He thought it might be prudent, under the circumstances of the Lady's new disposition towards his people, to not just appear in her royal chambers in the Undercity as he might have once been privileged to do being an ambassador of the Horde. Instead he directed the troll mage to open the portal on the road before the broken gates which led into the ruins of the fallen city of Lordaeron. Old Eitrigg might be, but the added exercise of the walk down into the catacombs of the Undercity would not break him.

He wore his tanned leather and mail armor as befitting a veteran warrior of his people, and carried his heavy, trusted axe across his back, though he had little thought he would need it on this occasion. Its presence was more for the sake of principle than pragmatics at this point. He was an orc warrior first and foremost, and a diplomat second.

As the slight nausea of the portal eased, he took in his surroundings. As his eyes scanned the scene in front of him, something was off. Eitrigg had been in Tirisfal Glades on several occasions for various purposes, but this scene in front of him felt more foreign than familiar. His instincts immediately told him he had been portaled to the wrong location. The very, very wrong location for one of his race.

The grasses surrounding the road were green and thriving. The sun shone joyously overhead, and all the trees around him were green and in full bloom. There was no deathly fog which had previously enveloped the land. In front of him were the walls of a great human built city, but instead of crumbling ruins he found human workers busy at work on rebuilding a great walled city.

 _Have I landed in Elwyn Forest by mistake?_ His mind went on alert.

"Hail, friend!" A human called out in a friendly, though guarded tone.

Eitrigg turned towards the voice and saw the strange sight of a human wearing the full armor of a Forsaken Deathguard, though the coat of arms on his tabard showed a firebird being reborn from purple ashes. The human's sword remained sheathed in his scabbard, and his expression appeared friendly but official.

Eitrigg's axe remained on his back as he returned the human's greeting with an orc salute, "Hail to you as well."

"The expression on your face appears to be somewhat confused, can I direct you somewhere?" The human asked.

"Perhaps you can," Eitrigg replied, feeling out the man's intentions. "I meant the portal to go to Tirisfal Glades."

"And so it has brought you." The guard replied. "What business brings you to Lordaeron, friend orc?"

 _Friend orc. That's a phrase I have rarely heard from a human mouth._ He thought to himself.

"I come as a goodwill ambassador from Orgimmar to speak with your queen." Eitrigg explained. "I am called Eitrigg. Your queen will know my name."

The guard studied the orc for a minute, his expression somewhat skeptical. Eitrigg permitted the scrutiny. In the guard's place, he also might have been skeptical. Perhaps it hadn't been so prudent after all to not portal directly to the…

"Her majesty has just returned from a diplomatic mission. I will direct you to her myself." The guard then told him. "Please, come with me." He directed the aged orc as he began to move towards the newly rebuilt gates of the city.

"Thank you." Eitrigg responded, walking next to him.

"I see your people have accomplished much since your… rebirth." Eitrigg told him as they trod the gravel road together. "It has been a long time since I have seen these lands so green and lively."

"Myself as well." The guard agreed. "You will find construction and rebuilding all across our unified kingdoms. Her majesty has put all of us, elf and human alike, to work. She has given us a real hope for our future for the first time in decades."

As they passed through the portcullis and into what had been the ruins of the city, Eitrigg saw newly constructed houses and shops, as well as more being built by eager workers with a new sense of purpose in their eyes. Columns which had been broken and shattered were removed and replaced with fresh stone work. Clean, fresh water ran in the city's pools and fountains. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted across Eitrigg's nostrils from a nearby baker's oven.

"I admit, it is still something of a mystery to us as to how she accomplished this transformation." Eitrigg told him.

"It is a mystery to all of us." The guard agreed. "And her majesty does not say how it happened, only that it came about by a divine intervention. But what does it matter? We were doomed to spend eternity as walking corpses, but now our lives and our futures have been given back to us."

"However it was accomplished, I cannot argue with the results." Eitrigg replied looking around himself with wonder, but also somewhat disturbed. The last time he had seen this city so full and working was when it had been an enemy of the Horde.

They passed through more parts of the city undergoing construction and into the central courtyard before the royal keep. Here too, much had changed since Eitrigg had last seen it.

In the center of the courtyard, where only the broken legs of a former statue of some human hero had stood, there now stood a newly carved marble portrait of the elven Lady Sylvanas Windrunner herself standing confidently and benevolently over her subjects, her bow in one hand and a sword in the other as though ready to defend them.

Eitrigg continued with the human guard up and through the gates which led into the domed former citadel of the city. Here too, attention had been paid to restoration, and both human and elven workers appeared to be employed in the task. A great bell which had lain in the path once upon a time had been removed, and as he looked overhead, the housing structures of it were also in the process of repair. Overgrown weeds and grasses had been pulled, poisoned, or cut. More repairs to the cracked and damaged stone walls had been made. As he surveyed his surroundings though, he could see not every statue had been replaced or restored yet. There were two that he counted in that stretch of entry along the side walls that still missed arms and heads.

 _Perhaps their images are not as important, or even best left forgotten?_ The old orc mused as he imagined who those statues might have represented.

They left the entry way and crossed into the room which had always been the best preserved of the ruins. The throne room of the former king of this land. Whenever Eitrigg had entered the chamber before, it had always given him the impression of a well kept memorial or a tomb. Yet this was not the sight which greeted him now.

Bright sunlight streamed into circular throne room and onto the mosaic inlaid with the blue and gold seal of the fallen kingdom from windows high above. Torches and mage lights lined the circumference of the throne room filling it with a golden glow more reminiscent of the elven capital than the ruined city he remembered. The moldy blue curtains which had been left to rot had been torn down and replaced with crimson and gold banners bearing the new kingdom's sigil. Around the room various people of several races in official looking robes and impressive dress vied for the attention of the person who now sat on the lion clawed throne which formed the heart and soul of the room.

Seated on the restored throne of the city was the elven woman he had come to see, and yet he paused and was stunned by the change which had come over her, it seemed, in every way. The last time he had seen Sylvanas Windrunner, she appeared to exude an unholy aura of death and menace. He had felt a chill in the air just being near her re-animated corpse.

The woman he gazed upon now seemed full of warmth and light as she spoke with her advisers and petitioners, both human and elven. She wore no cowl while seated on the throne. Her golden blond hair caught the sunlight and reflected it as though it were truly made of gold. The expression on her face seemed energetic yet weary as she issued orders and received advice. The weight of the world seemed poised on her feminine elven shoulders, but not the hopeless melancholy which he had previously observed from her.

One human who was among her advisers in particular seemed to attract her attentions more than the rest. He was a tall, muscular human with raven black hair and fresh beard who wore the black armor of the Knights of the Ebon Blade. Eitrigg noted how her eyes seemed to be drawn to him frequently, even though the human himself seemed to be oblivious to it.

 _Probably due to his poor sense of smell_. Eitrigg thought. _I can smell her desire for him from here. Human males c_ _an_ _be so handicapped where it c_ _omes_ _to the attentions of females._ The old orc mused, though he took note of his observation for possible future use should the need arise.

 _She truly lives_. These were ultimately the only words which came to Eitrigg's mind as he observed the extreme change in the most recent target of his brash warchief's malice. Though she was probably two or three times his age, she looked so young and vibrant to him that somewhere within him stirred perhaps the grandfather which had been denied to him through the senseless death of his sons, and he felt pleased at the light and liveliness which seemed to surround her.

"Sir?" The guard asked.

Eitrigg awoke as if from a trance. "Yes, of course. My apologies."

He hadn't realized he had been staring at the Lady, entranced in his own musings for several minutes. _Maybe I am getting too old for this, if I allow myself to be ensorcelled like that._ He thought to himself.

Eitrigg's presence however had not gone unnoticed by the Lady herself as she waved away the courtier who spoke with her and directed her gaze at the old orc appraisingly as he approached.

"Eitrigg." She addressed him evenly, feeling him out. "This is an unexpected visit."

"Indeed, our warchief sends his greetings, your majesty." Eitrigg returned. "And myself as his 'goodwill' ambassador."

A slight smile turned at the corners of her mouth for just a second, and then disappeared again as her face became impassive.

"Yes, I just received the warchief's 'greetings' this morning from Ambassador Dawnstrider." She replied. "I have a mind to return Garrosh's 'greetings' in kind."

 _So I thought you would. The warchief really doesn't realize what this woman is capable of, does he?_

"Ah, yes." Eitrigg responded. "He has since yesterday seen reason, your majesty, and accepts your conditions for our continued prosperity together."

It was mostly true for the moment, at any rate.

"Garrosh has seen reason?" Sylvanas mocked. "That is wondrous tidings you bring me."

Eitrigg had to diplomatically suppress a smile from forming around his own lips and tusks at her sarcasm. It was a sentiment he could only share with her privately, perhaps in winks or nods, and not one he could openly express for risk of becoming the younger orc's next target.

"You have made astounding and rapid progress in the rebuilding of the city." Eitrigg changed the subject. "Truly, your people are being reborn quickly through your leadership."

The smile began to return to the sunlit queen's features at his obvious attempt.

"Flattery is a new trick for you, Eitrigg. I didn't believe you capable of such fluff." She told him, though she seemed obviously pleased. "Yes, our people are hard at work here, and in Silvermoon rebuilding and restoring our cities."

"It is neither fluff nor flattery when the statement is true." Eitrigg returned. "Your people's miraculous transformation is still both a wonder and a mystery to all of us. I have heard tales of the same transformation in the afflicted parts of Stormwind's domain as well. It seems the blessing which was granted to Lordaeron has reached all parts of this world."

"I have heard tales of the same." The Lady replied evenly. "Whatever gods there may be have finally chosen to smile on our poor world at last."

And then Eitrigg saw it, just for a moment, in her eyes. There was a flash of knowledge somewhere there. Something that she wasn't revealing.

 _She does know! She knows exactly what happened and how, and she's refusing to share that knowledge with anyone else._ He realized. _The power that was called on to achieve this must have been beyond anything which we have known before. Nothing could stand against such power._

And then he almost physically shuddered at the next realization. It took the immense concentration of his warrior's discipline to keep his feelings buried in front of the powerful, newly crowned monarch in front of him.

 _She knows what it is and where._

"Indeed they have, your majesty." He replied to her out loud as his mind worked to lay out his next moves.

Garrosh may be a brash, reckless fool, but the Dark Lady had proven herself in the past to be a ruthless and merciless witch who would not hesitate to wipe out whole kingdoms if it suited her plans. He would see such power in the hands of neither, and he was not yet convinced that the Lady was no longer "Dark".

 _The plague canisters are the least of concerns for any of us in Azeroth now, regardless of race._ He thought to himself as he smiled politely at the radiant elf queen before him.

"I accept you, Eitrigg, as Orgrimmar's ambassador to Lordaeron." The Lady told him.

"Thank you, your majesty." Eitrigg returned.

"But I will not tolerate Orgrimmar's interference in our internal affairs. Our relationship will proceed as equal partners or not at all, am I understood?" She stated to him.

"As it should be, your majesty." Eitrigg replied. "We would not want you to forget that the Horde has always been your most trusted ally."

The sea side town was cold and misty that morning. The younger mage pulled his crimson cowl over his head to try and keep out at least some of the salty air, though he had little success, His blond hair tied back in a short, well groomed tail felt dirtier by the second, and his newly grown out beard felt crusty from the salt. His crimson and violet mage's robes bore the open eye crest of the Kirin Tor, the council of mages, across his breast.

These sensations had never bothered him before when visiting the coast, but then his skin had not been so sensitive to such irritations. _I suppose that's what happens when you gain living skin, every sensation becomes more intense._ He thought to himself.

He had visited the sea side port town of Vengeance Landing so he could make a report on the progress of its rebuilding and "refitting" for the Kirin Tor in Dalaran. Originally, it had been constructed to serve the strategic purposes of an undead population. Now the town found itself awash with living settlers and fishermen of various races.

Overhead, a zeppelin docked at a high tower constructed for just that purpose. Gereth wandered if it was the same zeppelin he and his comrades had "borrowed" months ago. As he passed the entry to the docking tower and the Steamweedle Cartel guards stationed there, he felt goblin eyes looking at him with suspicion, though no one said anything.

He smiled as he walked past. The goblins did not return it.

In the distance from the town, an abandoned Alliance fort could be seen. Once upon a time, it had served as a foothold meant to counter the Forsaken Horde presence on this stretch of coastline. But after the blight which had ravaged all the living beings in Northrend, and the sudden, miraculous transformation of the undead and blighted regions of their world, neither Stormwind nor Ironforge had seen fit to send more soldiers to man it. Both factions, Horde and Alliance alike had suffered enormous losses in manpower due to Ganondorf's blight.

In a way, as terrible a thought as this might be, those events had been a blessing and a boon for this most northern land. There hadn't been real conflict between the two factions here for months, and the former towns and encampments of their respective armies had been reoccupied by traders, merchants, and opportunists of virtually every race.

The goblins had been the first to see their new opportunities for exploiting Northrend's natural resources. This had come as a surprise to no one. They set up new oil platforms, lumber camps, and mining operations within weeks of Northrend's "re-opening". The Venture Company, the bane of the Cenarion Circle and anyone who liked clean air and green trees expanded its operations five fold. Peace, it seemed, was good for business.

Gereth's path took him up to an armored soldier on equally armored horseback. The man was in fact, the purpose of his path. Like himself, both rider and horse had recently undergone a "rebirth" as living beings. The soldier was a balding man close to middle age with jet black hair running in a ring around the sides and back of his head. With the exception of his crimson and flame decorated armor and weapons one might have been forgiven for thinking him a monk or member of a religious order from his seeming tonsure and facial features.

"Good morning, High Executor." Gereth called out to him.

"It is, isn't it, mage?" The soldier returned, albeit somewhat gruffly. "And to what do I owe a visit from the Kirin Tor?"

"I am only observing this trip, High Executor, and preparing reports for the council." Gereth responded in a friendly manner. "I only wanted to ask you how Vengeance Landing has fared, especially with all the newcomers."

"Lively." The High Executor responded, and not without a touch of irony. "Our Deathguards are kept busy enough with drunken fishermen and wayfarers on their way elsewhere, but it's nothing we can't handle."

"I see new construction going up in the fields below the original town." Gereth remarked. "Do you expect the Landing to grow that much?"

"Look around you mage, it already has. We're just trying to catch up." He replied, gesturing to the packed open square and docks of the port town.

"Yes, I did notice." Gereth returned. "One other question, if you please."

The soldier grunted his assent.

"Has her majesty given much oversight here?" He asked. It was the question that had been particularly pressing in the minds of his colleagues.

High Executor Anselm looked down and directly into the eyes of the Kirin Tor mage.

"So, you're among the reborn as well, brother?" The soldier questioned. "It's hard sometimes to tell us apart from the Alliance folk anymore."

"Indeed I am, brother." Gereth told him, leaving the details aside for the moment.

"She hasn't overseen us directly, but she sends a man from Lordaeron every few days to check up on our progress and inquire as to our needs. We've requested lumber, stone, and other materials now several times, but have only received a quarter of what we've asked. Most of what you see we've had to either harvest ourselves or deal with the goblins for. I'm told most of Lordaeron's resources are going to the rebuilding efforts there."

Gereth nodded. Anselm's information was intriguing. It meant that the queen was the only ruler who had even bothered to manage the rebuilding efforts of her settlements in Northrend. It made sense, as it was largely her own people who now wandered this land. The rest of the living population had been killed off indiscriminately by Ganondorf's blight which had only spared the undead and Forsaken men and women who had been here. When the rebirth had happened, they found themselves the only power in a largely empty land full of natural resources.

Word had reached Dalaran of the Lady's quick consolidation of her power in both Lordaeron and Silvermoon. Though she made no such claims, the people there largely credited her for the miracle which had occurred and she had done nothing to dissuade them. The large population of former Forsaken gave the newly reborn kingdom to their southeast a great advantage in Northrend. And the newly restored members of the Kirin Tor council had been aware of much activity in the north's resources being shipped south towards Tirisfal Glades.

Lord Commander Arete had gone to serve as the queen's right hand in military matters, and his now living Death Knights had taken oversight of the defense and security of her garrisons and outposts in the northern continent, all of which were growing with an influx of adventurers and opportunists. Sylvanas Windrunner had moved quickly and effectively in ensuring Lordaeron's dominance and control in the frosty north.

That she had granted Vengeance Landing only a token of the resources she now had access to suggested that there was more construction going on to the south than had been advertised. The question then remained, what kind of construction was going on?

"Thank you, High Executor. You gave me what I needed." Gereth told him.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Eitrigg felt the weight of his ambassadorial role most keenly as he rode on a sturdy brown mare next to Queen Sylvanas away from the busy construction of Lordaeron and towards the town of Brill, not far north of the city itself. He was told that it was to be a personal inspection of the work being done on that town as well and had been invited to observe.

Eitrigg had been certain it was little more than a showpiece for his entertainment. It would only be meant for him to give something boring to report to Garrosh. The Lady, dark or otherwise, wouldn't reveal any work of any real consequence to him at this point. Of that, he was certain.

What he was not certain of was what his own report back to Orgrimmar _would_ entail. He would have to make it by the end of the day to keep the warchief happy. Doubtless, Garrosh would want Eitrigg to tell him of what he suspected of the elven queen so that the young warchief himself might exploit such power. Doubtless also he would be ordered to learn everything he could about what and where it might be and then report those findings back.

Eitrigg intended on learning all he could, and if it were Thrall he would have no hesitation about making a full report on the secrets of the Lordaeron queen. But Garrosh was not warchief Thrall. Warchief Thrall would not have ordered the slaughter of every reborn Forsaken in Orgrimmar out of ignorance as to why his city suddenly held hundreds of humans as residents and guests. There was much unjust blood on Garrosh Hellscream's hands.

True to his agreement with his aged councilor, Kor'kron guards began disappearing from the city through portals back to Orgrimmar earlier in the day. Eitrigg expected the city to be empty of any orc military presence by the end of the day. That much, at least, was encouraging. Perhaps Garrosh might actually see the value of patience and strategy.

Eitrigg almost snorted a laugh at the thought. Garrosh and patience didn't belong in the same sentence together.

The elven queen rode beside him on a stunning white Thalassian charger. She wore her gold and blue armor which covered most of her vital areas at least, completed by the blue ranger general's cloak that was a visible sign of her continued devotion to the people of her birth even as she worked to restore those humans who found themselves under her rule. Her ornate yet lethal golden Quel'dorei recurve bow hung loosely from her back around a quiver of arrows which Eitrigg knew were far from being for show. He had seen the elf woman in battle himself.

It was just the two of them on the rode. Here in her own lands, she needed no entourage of bodyguards or advisers, and it was the fool who attempted to play the bandit against her.

Surprisingly, she had been quite chatty with him as they rode.

"You once wandered these lands on your own yourself I have heard." She had said once they were away from the city, turning her head to ask him. "Before the Scourge."

His eyes went up in surprise. Her demeanor and tone of voice had changed to something much less formal.

"It was farther east near Hearthglen, but yes, many years ago after the second war, your majesty." He replied. "After the death of my sons and the senseless fighting among the clans, I wanted nothing more to do with their vision of the Horde."

"You and I have seen much in this world, Eitrigg. We have both seen the good and the evil which men are capable of, regardless of their race." She then told him.

She did not have to relate her own sufferings. Her own torments at the Lich King's hands were well known.

"That is very true." The old orc replied as he thought of his friend Tyrion, the renegade human paladin who had sacrificed everything to keep his oath to the orc. He had not heard from him in some time.

"I know you don't trust me." She dropped her statement on him like a ticking bomb and left it there in a matter of fact tone waiting to see if it exploded.

Eitrigg saw no point in denying it as he pulled up on the reins and stopped his horse in the road. "Do you blame me?" He replied calmly.

She did the same with her own mount and looked at him. When she spoke, she did not answer the question directly but instead said, "I don't believe you trust young Garrosh any more than I do."

"I trust warchief Thrall's decisions." Eitrigg replied diplomatically. "I do what I can to guide Garrosh as Thrall asked of me." He then added knowingly, "But… he does not always listen to my council."

Sylvanas Windrunner then laughed out loud. It was so different from the dark and otherworldly laugh he had previously heard from her. Of course, he had not known her prior to her undeath. It was a woman's light, sincere laughter and it was infectious.

He began to chuckle as well.

"No, I imagine he does not." She finally said. "There are no spies here on this road right now. My rangers have seen to it. We may talk freely if you so desire."

Eitrigg looked this way and that into the woods by the sides of the road, but saw no one. Of course, he really didn't expect to see the queen's own elite elven archers. They rivaled the best spies in the Horde for their ability to blend into the forest. He pitied the rogues which the warchief most certainly had employed to watch him.

 _So that's why she brought me out here? So we can talk freely?_

"What is it you would like to know then, besides my disposition towards the warchief?" Eitrigg asked her. She had to know even if he did know Garrosh's true mind he wouldn't betray the Horde's interests to her regardless of his feelings towards the brash youth.

The Lady pulled on her reins to continue their ride, and motioned for Eitrigg to do the same keeping their horses at a walk.

"I had nothing to do with Putress's actions at the Wrathgate, Eitrigg. He unleashed the blight on the living without my orders or consent." She told him. "But it matters little what I say. What's done is done."

Eitrigg remembered the day he received word of the betrayal by the Forsaken upon the combined forces of the Horde and Alliance against the Scourge. Dranosh Saurfang, a friend, had been lost that day. It had never been clear whether or not the apothecary had acted with his queen's assent, but it had been the catalyst for Warchief Thrall to declare martial law upon the Undercity at the time and station his own men to watch the then Dark Lady at all times.

"What is done, is done." Eitrigg agreed with her, wondering where she was going with this.

"What I do, I do for my people." She continued speaking. "In my life before, my first duty, my first thought was the defense of Quel'Thalas and Silvermoon herself. After my death and freedom from the Lich King's grasp, I fought for the people of this land to defend them and their rights from any who would take it from them. Whether you believe me to be guilty of such crimes of war or not, my first duty, my first thought is still the protection of this land and my people. I am loyal to the people of Lordaeron, Eitrigg. I am loyal to these people whether elf or human and I swear I will not see them exploited or driven to destruction again."

Her voice had risen with a passion that Eitrigg could only take as sincere. Then, after a moment's pause, her voice lowered and she told him, "They need no val'kyr now. Those that were my val'kyr are reborn now as the rest of us are. They need no supply of corpses to sustain their ranks any longer. They need no plague. All these people need are peace, young men and women willing to let nature take its course, and time. I intend to see to it that as many of them have it as possible. The warchief's schemes against the Alliance be damned."

Eitrigg nodded. "Honorable, if true." He told her with no hint of sarcasm in his voice. This elven queen, he felt he could respect "if" this was really the person she was now.

"What I want to know, warrior," She began, "is whether your loyalty is to your people, or to your reckless warchief."

Eitrigg considered her question honestly. But there were too many questions of his own, not the least of which was the fate of the former regent lord of Silvermoon.

"Did your loyalty to your people extend to Lor'themar as well? We have not heard from him in some time, and I do not imagine he would give up his power so easily." Eitrigg replied. It was a question which had been burning in Garrosh's throne room which had gone unanswered for months.

Sylvanas was quiet for a moment, and Eitrigg wondered what her answer would be.

"Lor'themar and I came to an understanding." She told him somewhat cryptically. "He told me once that he wanted to leave politics. I offered him the chance to do just that peaceably."

"And where is he now?" Eitrigg pressed. It had been assumed in Orgrimmar's halls of power that Sylvanas had disposed of him somewhere discreetly so her sister could govern Silvermoon in her name. Garrosh did not care about who governed the elves as long as he was able to govern that person.

"Happier." Sylvanas told him. "With fewer responsibilities, and a desire for his own privacy."

 _That tells me nothing, woman._ Eitrigg thought at her, though said nothing.

"My own loyalty is to the Horde and a better future for _all_ of its people, your majesty." He answered her question.

"Indeed." She replied, her tone of voice pensive. "And if your warchief should send the Horde into another senseless war? This time perhaps against the Horde's own people?"

"Will he be given cause to?" He asked, knowing that this was the crux of the matter.

"That depends on how willing he is to allow the peace we ask for to happen." She responded sincerely.

All that was heard after that for the next several minutes were the clip-clopping of the horses until they arrived to the sound of hammers, saws, and more construction in the town of Brill. Like Lordaeron itself, the former town of undead was undergoing a radical renovation as it retooled for a more mortal population.

As they rode into the town, Eitrigg noticed something that he hadn't seen in the Lordaeron capital. Off to his left and near the tall building which had passed formerly for an inn and town hall, was a little human girl of maybe six or seven years old he believed. It was difficult to tell the ages of human children because they grew so slowly.

The queen noticed her too and drew her horse close to where the girl stood barefoot next to a woman who had been weaving bolts of cloth. The girl's mother, dressed in a plain brown linen dress with equally brown hair and hazel colored eyes immediately put down what she was doing and curtsied in front of the elven monarch.

"Muriel!" She whispered loudly at the girl to do the same.

Muriel struggled to imitate her mother's act of obeisance.

Sylvanas smiled at the little girl and her mother and motioned for them to rise. She then turned to Eitrigg, gesturing towards the girl and said, "Do you see, Eitrigg? This is the future I wish to create for Lordaeron. This child and as many more as are possible for us will be my legacy to them. I mean to allow her and all others like her to grow up, Ambassador. And I will bring every resource I have to bear to ensure that it happens."

Gelorix appeared suddenly in Garrosh's private chambers in his stronghold. He had appeared so suddenly that, afterwards, he began to think his presentation needed a little more fine tuning. The warchief's axe and how close it had passed to his head had much to do with this.

It was in the later hours of the evening when the goblin had slipped past the warchief's Kor'kron guards to offer information he believed the orc warrior might be willing to pay handsomely for. He was already in the employ of the Horde as one of many spies, but that just wouldn't do. Gelorix had his own plans for the future, and he was no run of the mill back street rogue! He would certainly prove he was a master spy and capable of so much more than just skulking around for the Horde's big boss!

When the goblin had finally convinced the much larger and stronger orc that he was not there to assassinate him (Though he certainly could have for the right price. Yes, he was that good!), and that he was one of Garrosh's own spies working in Dalaran, the orc had responded—rather gruffly but he was an orc after all—by standing over him with his axe in his hand and paying his full attention.

"This had better not be a waste of my time, goblin." Garrosh had told him. "Report. What have you found that couldn't wait until morning?"

Gelorix could already tell he was making a great impression on his employer!

"Oh, I didn't think you'd want to wait for this at all, warchief! That's why I came straight here. You know, information like this some people might consider priceless, but for you..." Gelorix had been about to make his pitch but was cut short.

"Talk first, and then we'll see what it's worth, spy." The warchief told him, fingering the blade of his axe.

Okay, the warchief was a tough negotiator, but Gelorix could work with that. He decided to throw the orc a bone.

"What's information about how the undead got un-undead worth to you, warchief?" Gelorix asked him.

The orc stopped fingering his axe and glared at the goblin's smiling business face. "Go on." He finally said.

"Ah yes, now I was thinking along the lines of, oh say two hundred gold pieces?" The goblin named his price. It seemed a bit low for one of his caliber, but he didn't want to appear greedy.

"Talk." Garrosh demanded, though the goblin took his tone of voice and the look in his eyes as agreement to their contract.

"I've heard talk of something called Zelda's Legend in Dalaran. A guy I know thinks it's some kind of ancient relic. It has something to do with an orc female who's been there since the Forsaken's big change. Word on the street is that she had a lot to do with it, but either no one's sure how or no one's saying. I did some checking and she got married to a human mage who used to also be one of the undead. Now he's a high muckity muck in the Kirin Tor when before all this happened no one had even heard of the guy. The orc woman hasn't left Dalaran for months. I tailed her a couple of times. She looks about your age, and wears this weird green and purple scale armor that I've never seen on an orc before. She also carries this big, ancient looking sword that glows. I've seen a lot of impressive magic swords in my day, boss, but there's something different about this one."

The warchief listened intently to Gelorix's report and then asked, "Do you have a name for this orc female?"

"A pal of mine said people called her 'Shaggara.' Her husband's name is Gereth." He responded, proud of his thoroughness. "I did some checking with another friend of mine who's a mage in Dalaran. He tells me that whatever was capable of changing all the Forsaken and restoring the plaguelands to boot had to have a power beyond anything anyone's seen."

"And this Shaggara knows what it is and where." Garrosh finished for him.

"Yep." The goblin confirmed. "That's my best conclusion too. So, about my payment..."

Gelorix let the last phrase hang in the air as he looked at the warchief expectantly. But the warchief appeared to not be paying any attention to the goblin anymore. Indeed, it looked like the big, bald warrior was lost in his own thought, looking off to the side.

When he did speak again, it was almost in a whisper as he said, "With that kind of power, we need bow to no one's demands..."

"Yeah, I agree. So, about that two hundred we agreed on?" Gelorix asked again. He had lived up to his end of the deal after all.

"What?" Garrosh asked, his attention focused on the goblin who stood in front of him with his right hand outstretched expectantly. "Yes, I suppose your information was worth something after all."

Garrosh went to a chest near his sleeping mats and opened it, withdrawing what Gelorix would have considered a barely "decent" sized bag. His sharp goblin ears could hear the clink of precious metals as the bag jostled in the rough orc's hand. It didn't sound like two hundred gold, though. One fifty maybe, but still. Gelorix thought they had a deal.

Garrosh casually tossed the bag at his goblin spy and it hit him square in the chest hard, knocking him over and on to the floor. Gold could be heavy like that, Gelorix remembered as he rolled over onto his side, trying to catch his breath and catching rolling gold coins at the same time.

"There's your gold, goblin." Garrosh said, nearly spitting the word "goblin." "I want you to go back to Dalaran. Bring me more information about this 'Legend of Zelda' you speak of. Tell no one else of what you've learned. This is for my ears only. Do I make myself clear, spy?"

"Very." Gelorix managed to sputter out as he captured the last coin and placed it safely back in its bag, ready for deposit in his account at the Bank of Orgrimmar.

All in all, the transaction could have gone smoother, but at least he had caught the warchief's eye! Yes sir! Things were onward and upward from here on in!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The sun was in the process of setting in the western sky when Gereth returned to Dalaran. The dimly lit room in his tower to which he teleported from the Howling Fjord sat empty that evening. This wasn't unusual as he had chosen to teleport into his library. While Shaggara had chosen to make use of it on occasion since coming to live with him in the mage's city, she didn't have the scholar's bug that he did, and she was the only other of the tower's mortal occupants.

He would make his report to the council in the morning. He decided this as he climbed the steps to his bed chamber. Doubtless, the other councilors were already in their own private apartments and residences throughout this city and others around Azeroth as well.

The human mage was exhausted from the day's work. He had teleported to no less than three… no four separate towns undergoing construction and renovation, observing the work and speaking with his newly living brothers and sisters. He had walked what felt like miles around those smaller towns, including Jotunheim far north of Dalaran along the cliffs over the icy waters. It had also been recently reoccupied by settlers from Lordaeron after its original, less civilized inhabitants had succumbed to the demon king's blight.

The rest of the newly formed council believed it wise to send him to these outposts rather than one of another race or faction. Their counsel had been proven right. Gereth was made far more welcome among his kindred people than any other, even a human from the south might have been. But the magic and the wandering was taxing on his mortal body far more than it had been on his undead one, and he hadn't realized how _cold_ parts of Northrend really were until he had traveled it in living flesh and blood.

At the moment, he wanted nothing more than to see his wife, and then his bed.

Life in Dalaran was not easy for the orc warrior woman. Or more to the point, it had been _too_ easy for her. The use of magic in all its forms made Dalaran and their tower exceptionally comfortable. For a human woman, it might have been an ideal, civilized paradise of a life. They could have anything they wanted and travel anywhere they wanted. He could see to it. But Shaggara was not a human woman.

She needed something to challenge her, to fight with her, and to try and kill her. Orcs tended to be restless unless they had either killed or something had tried to kill them at least once a day, even the most peace minded among them. Aggression was in their blood. Even in the time of Shaggara's great grandmother, her clan was made up of hunters and warriors that challenged and fought each other and their environment every day just to survive.

It wasn't long ago that his wife had chosen retirement as a pig farmer in Durotar after living most of her life with two axes in her hands fighting against the Scourge and other enemies of the Horde. That might not sound like much of a challenge until one realized that Kalimdor swine are more carnivorous, and even cannibalistic than most, and the land of Durotar itself is nearly dead desert. Even a quiet retirement meant a life and death struggle with her surroundings at times.

And now, the blood of youth filled her veins again, and with it the passions of a younger orc woman than she had been prior to the rebirth. The stone golem he had given her to spar with would only suffice for so long, he knew.

He worried about her now in a way that he never had before in all the years he had known her.

"Shaggara?" He inquired as he climbed the steps leading to the balcony where she chose to train. He didn't have to call out loudly. Her keen orc hearing, honed from generations of hunters and fighters, would hear him.

It had been on that platform at the top of the tower where she and their companions from Hyrule had faced and defeated the fallen Titan Sargeras. The demon king had sought to re-enter Azeroth through the body of a willing, powerful sorcerer from that other world that Link and Zelda had also been from. It had only been with Shaggara's blade, The Sword of Mastery, given her by Ysera herself and new found abilities through the Golden Flame of Azeroth that they had been able to seal the evil creature away from their world.

Shaggara believed the spot to be perfect for her personal training. While the view was stunning, He had thought that the open chamber towards the bottom of the long spiral staircase of the tower would be more suited for her purposes. He had asked her once why she preferred the open circular balcony.

She had responded, "Because it reminds me of my new purpose in this world."

He had realized then, in many ways, just as Gereth had been reborn that day, so had the warrior woman who had become his wife; he as a living, breathing mortal man, and she as a chosen last line of defense against whatever evil forces might threaten their world. It was a profound thought and one which he considered carefully.

He reached the chamber at the top of the tower and proceeded towards the open doors which led out to the balcony. This now empty chamber, large and spacious had once been his master's laboratory, a Blood Elf by the name of Duazhen. It was here that Duazhen had dragged the foreign sorcerer Ganondorf in his own quest for the Golden Flame and unleashed an evil power which had nearly destroyed Azeroth in the process, but not before the sorcerer had disposed of his former master first.

Most of the original alchemical equipment which Duazhen had kept in here had been damaged beyond repair during that final battle, and much of the original furniture. He could have repaired it using the magic he wielded, or by simply hiring tradesmen to do the work for him. He could have, but he didn't. Instead, he had simply chosen to remove it. All of it. Most of it still held enchantments born from magic dusts and energies which he conserved in containers for future use, but he had otherwise obliterated the physical remains and cleaned up the blast marks from the powerful energies which had been unleashed here.

In the past few months since taking ownership of the tower, however, Gereth hadn't been able to make much use of it as a laboratory for any of his own experiments. He really hadn't the time to pursue his own inquires and lines of research. He had been too busy with forming and assisting the new Kirin Tor council when he wasn't trying to spend time with his new wife. The chamber had sat empty except when Shaggara chose to perform her exercises here.

Life had become so much more complicated than undeath.

He walked out onto the balcony to find himself the only one present. The night air around Dalaran was becoming chilled as the last vestiges of sunlight were being extinguished in orange and purple glory in the west.

It wasn't unusual for Shaggara to be out when he returned from his duties to the mage's council. He already had some ideas of where she might be. He toyed with the idea of just waiting for her to return, but decided against it.

Turning right, away from the setting sun and back into the empty, former laboratory, he headed back towards the staircase and the teleportation device which would take him to the ground level of the tower quickly.

Shaggara sat cross-legged at a table in The Filthy Animal, the Horde friendly inn in the mage's city, nursing a grog of questionable origin. It had an earthroot flavor to it, and some kind of fruit juice had been added. She could also taste the traces of dwarven bourbon, as well as a salted meat broth to make it more suitable for an Orc's palate. It wasn't bad for the troll barkeep's attempt.

The new innkeeper, a female orc by the name of Mathra was amiable enough. She was one of the handful of other orcs who had chosen to find opportunities in the new Dalaran. She too had been a veteran of the wars which had previously ravaged this land, and had the scars across the right side of her face to prove it. Gathra was a welcome sight indeed to Shaggara, but she could have used the company of her old friend and foster sister Gryshka back in Orgrimmar. There were few others in this world as loyal to her, and as willing to listen as her orphanage foster family.

The fire lit, animal skin and skull decorated tavern was mostly empty that evening. It was a far cry from the way she had remembered it years ago when the tables could be packed with boisterous, bragging warriors fresh from the battlefield telling their tales of bravery whether they were true or not. One could be easily entertained by a drunk Tauren warrior recounting how he had slain hundreds of scourge on the battlefield, only to be shouted down by an orc comrade who had been fighting alongside him. Good natured bar fights had been common too, and dealt with harshly by Uda the Beast, The Filthy Animal's former innkeeper. One could never be bored in Uda's tavern.

The only other patrons in the tavern were a group of five goblins who sat huddled around a table in the far corner. Gold and silver coins, pieces of paper, and various jewels were splayed over the table's surface while the goblins concentrated on collections of cards they held in their green hands as though their futures depended on them. More than once she had heard accusations of cheating from various players of the card game against each other. It had proven to be a mildly amusing distraction to Shaggara to watch them argue and verbally abuse one another under Mathra's watchful eye. The orc innkeeper looked to be just waiting for the chance to use the massive, two handed axe she carried at her back.

Shaggara could use a portal to Orgimmar, she knew, had she wanted to visit her foster family. But the Orgrimmar which now was, was not the Orgimmar she had known. It wasn't warchief Thrall's Orgrimmar any longer. It had been replaced by some Hellfire inspired cesspool by Thrall's "acting" warchief Garrosh Hellscream. There had been a reason why she had avoided the city after the fires which had ravaged it during the most recent Cataclysm which had reshaped Azeroth. Before them it had been a welcome refuge and home for all the Horde's disparate peoples, but now… It was barely a home for the orcs themselves. Garrosh seemed determined to push the Horde into open confrontation with the Alliance at every possible turn.

She hated the fact that he was also the rightful chieftain of the Warsong clan and her own kinsman and chieftain as a result. To go against him was to betray her own clan, not to mention the rest of the Horde. Some might have called it cowardice, but she didn't care. She considered it "strategic distance" to keep herself as far away from Orgrimmar as she could, especially now.

"Your kind aren't welcome here, human." Shaggara heard Mathra's threatening voice as the tall, long brown haired orc woman stalked towards the entryway for her inn.

Shaggara turned her head to see what fool of an Alliance human decided tonight would be the best time to test the innkeeper's patience. As she did, she saw a clearly human mage dressed in crimson robes bearing the insignia of the Kirin Tor. A cowl cover his head, but exposed his clearly human face. The mage had golden blond hair and matching, freshly grown beard. He carried a staff of gnarled wood, the head of which was a glowing ball of silvery energy like the full moon the Night Elves called Elune.

She knew the fool very well.

"Hold, Mathra!" Shaggara called out to the innkeeper. "The human is my mate!"

The innkeeper stopped in front of the human, sizing him up and then looked back towards Shaggara. The expression on her face read, "Seriously?"

"He is one of the reborn, and no stranger to the Horde." She told her further.

Mathra grunted, but stepped aside to allow the mage to enter her establishment. As he passed her, she told him not quietly, "No trouble human, or my axe will feed well tonight."

Shaggara heard Gereth reply smoothly, "None will be caused by me at least, my dear innkeeper."

He heard the innkeeper grunt her dubiousness behind him.

Shaggara gestured for her husband to join her at the table where she sat, and he came over, sitting down next to her at the table, drawing the hood from his head. He placed his hand over her own on the table.

"I see you started without me, my dearest." He said, looking at the half consumed drink in front of her, his eyes full of care for her.

"You should try it. The new barkeep isn't bad at blending his grog." She replied, her voice somewhat pensive. "Though it doesn't have as much of a punch as Gryshka's barkeep can give it."

"Doubtless." Gereth replied, knowing his wife's foster sister. "How is the new cook? Have you tried their roasted meats yet?"

Shaggara shook her head. "I wasn't hungry."

Gereth gestured for the troll barmaid and ordered himself a pint of the house ale. He wasn't much of a drinker, and since his rebirth didn't have the constitution for strong alcohol that his brownish green skinned wife did. But a good, hoppy, barley ale was always welcome on his tongue.

After his drink was brought to him, and he had taken a good draught of it he waited for Shaggara to continue the conversation in her own time. He knew there was much on the warrior woman's mind, and she would have to come to her own conclusions as to how to solve them. He trusted her to know that they would be the right ones. He believed he knew her well enough for that.

After several minutes, she told him, "I want to return to Forest Song, to the temple where Zelda tested us."

Gereth's eyebrows went up, but he kept his first thoughts to himself as he let her explain further.

"I need more answers, my love." She told him. "I need more answers than I can find here. I need to know what my true purpose here is now, and I cannot find it confined here in this floating mage's wonderland."

Gereth ran her words through his mind, sorting them and dissecting them. When he was done, a split second later, he said in a low voice so as not to be heard by anyone else, "There is no guarantee either of us can re-enter it, and while I can see it clearly in my mind, there may be counter measures in place to prevent portals being opened directly into it. It took Zelda's _uniqueness_ to open the door. It may not open for either of us regardless of the power that you bear. And then there is the matter of the guardians we encountered."

"I carry the Golden Flame, my love. The temple's spirit will recognize me. I am certain of it. I must try." She told him resolutely.

Gereth nodded. "Then I will take us both there when you are ready, my dearest."

Unknown to the two, one of the goblins at the table, the one with the smallest pile of treasure in front of him, looked up from his cards every so often to read the lips of the odd couple at the table across the room. Whatever his keen ears could not pick up, his eyes did.

And the goblin smiled.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Eitrigg sat on a plush rug and firm pillow in the ambassador's apartment he had been granted. The sun had gone down over the western hills of Tirisfal Glades long before, and it was quiet now. All of the hammering, sawing, and general noise of construction had ceased with the setting of the sun.

The apartment was a small, two chamber residence in the above ground city of Lordaeron not far from the throne room which had recently been repaired. One room was meant as a workspace with a pinewood desk and chair so new that he could smell the intoxicating scent of the forest whenever he approached them. Fresh ink was corked in a bottle on the desk, and a stack of parchments sat next to it along with a writing stylus. The other room was meant as sleeping quarters with a wooden bed and soft feather mattress more fit for a smaller human than the large, sturdy frame of an orc. Blankets and other linens favored by humans and elves adorned the bed, as well as other accoutrements around the room intended to make it pleasant enough.

Though the apartment might have been considered incredibly spartan by elven standards, it felt almost too much finery for the old orc warrior who was far more comfortable with bear skins to sleep on and well padded rugs to sit on. But the attempt had been made to afford him the honor appropriate to an ambassador. Among humans and elves, part of that honor meant certain luxuries that an orc would find pointless, but he had learned over his many years to respect their attempts.

His legs were crossed, and his back was as erect as he could make it. His eyes were open and fixed on a candle he had lit and placed a couple of feet in front of him. It was a technique the Pandaren monk, Ji Firepaw, had taught him to calm his mind and train his focus, something imminently practical for a warrior, even one with as many years as Eitrigg had.

You never stopped learning no matter how old you became. Life was continuously teaching the orc warrior this lesson, and the younger monk proved to have much wisdom to share with him.

As he watched the candle, he allowed his conversation with Sylvanas to play back through his mind over and over again. As Ji had instructed him, he made no attempts to control his thoughts, only observe them as his attention was kept on the candle's tiny flame. It was the elven queen's questioning of his loyalties that kept repeating itself.

There was no question in his mind that it had been an attempt by the queen to make him question his obedience to the warchief. As the scene continued to replay in his mind of its own volition, he wanted more and more to understand why it had disturbed him so. And the more it did, the more the answer seemed to reveal itself.

As much as he did not trust Sylvanas Windrunner's ambitions and schemes, he trusted Garrosh Hellscream's headstrong recklessness and minimizing of the value of the other races of the Horde even less.

Thrall son of Durotan and Draka, grandchild of the wise and noble Shamaness Geyah, the warchief before Garrosh, had made allies through heroic and honorable actions. He saw the value in diplomacy and peaceful negotiations. He had made a real ally to the Horde in the human woman Jaina Proudmoore and her marshland dominion of Theramore Isle, and used that relationship to further peaceful relations. During the Cataclysm which tore Azeroth apart, he worked tireless to rescue his people. Eitrigg still remembered well the scene of Thrall and the noble Tauren Chieftain Cairne Bloodhoof rescuing infants of all races from the devastation. Thrall cared for his people, _all_ of his people, and wanted only what was best for the Horde. It was the reason why he had ceded his position as warchief, so that he could use his extraordinary gifts as a shaman to understand the torment the spirits of the elements were in because of the cataclysm and help heal them. Thrall was a true hero and a worthy successor to the great and honorable Frostwolf chieftain that his father had been.

Garrosh was not Thrall. Through his foolishness, he had systematically undone every good and honorable alliance Thrall had made, and resorted to war when war was not needed. Claiming that only orcs and tauren were strong enough to be true members of the Horde, he had cast out the races of the Horde he felt were weak from the center of Orgrimmar, consigning them to slums and drudgery. What was worse, he took the life of the aged and wise tauren chieftain in the Orgrimmar arena, leaving behind only suspicion that he had deliberately murdered him by poisoning his blade, and a grieving nation of noble warriors. To add to his list of crimes, he had sacrificed the lives of hundreds of noble Horde warriors as a ruse to draw the Alliance leadership away from Theramore while he committed an atrocity by unleashing a weapon of unspeakable force against their former, relatively friendly human neighbors. Garrosh had destroyed any truce between the human ruler of Theramore and Orgrimmar by dropping that devilish mana bomb on the city. Any real friendship between the Lady Proudmoore and Thrall had died that day and Garrosh had been the architect of its demise.

Was Eitrigg loyal to his warchief?

As the question continued to run through his mind unbidden, the realization came to him that the answer was a resounding "no". Eitrigg was loyal to Thrall, and he had promised to guide the son of Grommash Hellscream, but Garrosh would not listen to wisdom. Not from him, not from anyone. The truth was that he might have called Garrosh out himself to end the brash youth's destructive path if he thought he had any chance against him. Someone needed to bring Hellscream's offspring to justice for his war crimes. The old orc had written a letter to his former warchief explaining this in detail.

But Eitrigg had been a warrior in Draenor long before his people had ever heard of Azeroth. He had not been as young as Garrosh was now during the ill conceived conflicts of the first and second wars. He had been old already when he stood by his human paladin friend, the Argent Highlord Tyrion Fordring against the Scourge forces in Northrend. With the almost seventy years that his mind and body had seen, his wisdom might have grown, but the strength in his axe hand had not. The son of Hellscream was strong, and a cunning warrior in his own right. Challenging Garrosh to an honorable fight to the death meant Eitrigg's certain death, and it would accomplish nothing.

Eitrigg's honor was disturbed by the truth of that rejection of his warchief, but it was more distraught by Garrosh's honorless actions. The truth, he had discovered, was that he only remained in Garrosh's service out of loyalty, not to Hellscream, but to Thrall to whom he had given his word, and he considered his word unbreakable.

 _Knock! Knock!_

The fresh stonework of his apartment began to phase back into his awareness as the sound of someone knocking politely but firmly and repeatedly on the wooden door of his chambers intruded into his meditations.

"Ambassador?" A baritone male, human voice called out.

Eitrigg knew the quality of voice well. It was a voice used to leading troops in battle, and being heard across the tumult of weapons clashing against one another, and men screaming for the mortal wounds that had struck them. It was a voice whose owner he could respect as a fellow, veteran warrior regardless of his race.

"Enter!" Eitrigg turned his head and called out, though he made no attempt to rise. It was late, and the visitor was intruding on the old warrior's personal time. He would have to put up with his orcish manners this close to turning in for the night.

The latch of the wooden door was raised from the outer handle, and the door swung open, the black plate guantlet of a human hand guiding it inwards. The hand was followed by a tall, broad shouldered human warrior with raven black hair and chiseled human features from which grew a short beard and mustache. Regardless of the hour, he still wore the ebony plate armor of the order of death knights. From what Eitrigg knew of human preferences for appearance, the man would have been considered handsome by their people. He certainly knew the elven queen took a liking to him.

"Ambassador Eitrigg?" The man inquired, stepping into the room, his plated boots striking against the newly sanded wooden floor planks.

"Lord Commander Arete." Eitrigg responded. "The hour is late for a visit of any kind, official or otherwise."

"Agreed, but I am here by request of her majesty. She asked that you follow me that we might show something else to you." Arete replied.

"Couldn't it wait until morning?" Eitrigg replied.

"Not if we are to be as discreet as the matter needs be." Arete responded. "We still aren't entirely certain whether Stormwind has kept their end of our truce and removed all of their forces from our lands. It is no longer as easy to tell their people from ours."

"True." Eitrigg replied as he finally brought his own aged but muscular body to a standing position. "What is it your queen wishes to show me now?"

"Please, Ambassador, come with me. I cannot tell you more until we arrive." Arete answered, his voice low but sincere.

Eitrigg drew in a breath and sighed as his gaze was drawn towards the bedroom. It would be a later night than he had planned on. But he was intrigued. He would see whatever Sylvanas wanted to show him. He would make his own decisions however about what the meaning of it would be.

He went to the wall where his axe rested and took it up. The weight of it always felt good in his hand, but the weight of it in its harness across his back would have to suffice. Eitrigg was determined to never be anywhere in this land without it. Arete made no comment, but seemed to take it as a matter of course that the ambassador would carry his war axe with him whether or not he thought it would be needed.

Satisfied that he was ready enough, he gestured towards the door with his wrinkled, greenish brown hand and told him, "Lead the way."

Eitrigg then followed the Death Knight out of his apartment in the city and towards the domed building which housed the throne room. The stars and constellations shone brightly overhead, though the silver white moon was nowhere to be seen. Azeroth's other, blue moon might have been in the sky, but it was difficult to pick out against the night sky for the untrained eye, and Eitrigg's eyes had been trained for other things.

He had been told once by a mage who was a scholar of such things that each star was a sun like Azeroth's own, and that worlds like Azeroth circled many of them. There were times Eitrigg would look up at the night sky and wonder which star his homeworld of Draenor might have circled before its destruction and twisting into the alternate dimension known as Outland. It was the occasional moment of sentimentality, but Draenor had been the home of his youth and his memories of it were not all bad.

"We are headed for the throne room?" Eitrigg asked as they walked.

"You will see once we arrive, ambassador." Arete responded.

"You fought against the Lich King in Northrend?" The old orc asked.

"After my brothers and I were freed from his grip, yes." Arete replied.

"I fought in Northrend against the Scourge as well." Eitrigg then told him. "Bad business there, but necessary. I fought alongside the Argent Crusade Highlord, Tyrion Fordring."

"I knew him by reputation, but it was Highlord Darion Mograine who interacted personally with him. He's a good man and a noble warrior." Arete responded. "Even if we didn't always see eye to eye with him."

"I imagine you wouldn't have at the time." The old orc remarked with a chuckle. "I have heard he returned to Hearthglen after the fall of the Lich King to restore his former lands."

"Yes, her majesty has had many missives from Mardenholde Keep. He has been eager to cooperate with us in the rebuilding of Lordaeron after the rebirth." Arete returned.

"I am glad to hear it. It was a crime when his lands were taken from him." Eitrigg told him, knowing only too well the circumstances surrounding it. "It is only justice that he should be their rightful master again."

Arete nodded in quiet agreement.

They passed into the throne room chamber. Torch lights continued to illuminate the chamber, but it was empty and quiet in stark contrast to earlier in the day. Arete continued leading Eitrigg past the the throne and down a long tunnel which was only too familiar to the orc warrior. The tunnel led down into the royal crypt, and from there into the catacombs which were the passage into the Undercity, the system of sewage canals and structures that the Forsaken had made their own capital city under the ruins of the former kingdom.

"We are heading into the Undercity?" Eitrigg asked, his voice echoing lightly against the walls.

"Yes." Arete responded, then put his finger to his lips and said in a whisper, "we must be cautious even here. You have my word all will be explained when we reach our destination."

Eitrigg nodded and said, "Lead on, Knight."

They continued to descend through tunnels until they entered a circular chamber with a glowing green circle centered in the middle of the floor. As soon as they did, a stone slab slid over the doorway and the floor of the chamber began to drop suddenly.

Eitrigg was not alarmed at either event. He knew the routine of the elevator chamber which led down into the true capital of the Forsaken, at least, what had been their true capital.

When the elevator had reached bottom, the Death Knight continued on, leading Eitrigg into the former beating heart of the Undercity, the trade quarter. In his previous visits, the circular center of the city had been filled with undead merchants, citizens, and soldiers all going about their business. Raspy voices could be heard around the massive stone chamber negotiating, discussing any and every subject. While it might have been unnerving on first glance to the uninitiated, it soon became apparent that it was no different than any other city, with the exception of the unusual nature of its populace.

But as Eitrigg and Arete entered the circular chamber, what struck him most this time was the silence and quiet. It felt more like a tomb now than when it was filled with the undead. The only people to be seen around the walkways were human soldiers in the armor of the former deathguards, but wearing the new red and gold firebird livery which these people had adopted. As he observed them with a warrior's eye, he also noticed that, in addition to the swords and shields which they carried, slung across the back of each man was a boomstick with a scope for accuracy, a weapon favored by hunters. They were patrolling the empty districts of the city.

"It's quieter here now." Eitrigg observed.

"Most of our people have relocated up to the surface. The sun and fresh air agree with the living better than these sewers." Arete told him.

"Most?" Eitrigg asked, wondering what human or elf would want to remain down here.

"There are still some things we would prefer be left unseen. We need trusted people to see to them." Arete told him. "As you will soon see."

Now the old orc was truly curious as to what the Death Knight would show him.

They continued down a flight of stairs and through several tunnels along the underground sewage canals until they came into the stone gateway which led into the Undercity's Apothecarium district. Though he had thankfully never been in it, by reputation it had formerly been a chamber of horrors and experiments by the undead which no living being could walk out of without nightmares for the rest of their natural existence. But as they passed along the tunnels leading into it, he found them too quite empty and silent except for the patrols of the well armed guards.

They passed into a large stone chamber and immediately, Eitrigg had to cover his sensitive orc nose. The stenches of animal rot and revolting concoctions filled this chamber though it looked as though it had been completely emptied except for an enormous metal box, easily taller than the orc warrior was and at least as wide and deep, which sat in the center of it. Stains from dried brownish red and green fluids were splattered across the stone floor, though if there had been human or otherwise remains, they had been removed.

"The stench has been stubborn to remove." Arete said, placing his own hand over his face at the overpowering aroma. "And it presents another layer of deterrent to keep prying eyes from this place."

"What is this chamber, Death Knight?" Eitrigg asked.

"This is what her majesty wished you to see." Arete responded.

The Death Knight motioned with his free hand to one of the chamber's guards who, like Arete, wore the black plate armor of the knights of the Ebon Blade. The guard approached the massive dark gray metal box. Eitrigg then noticed that the side of the box which faced them had hinged built into one side, and a handle with a goblin made combination lock. The guard put himself in between the newcomers and the combination lock, and Eitrigg could only see that he made some motions with his hand. A "click" echoed through the chamber and the guard pulled the heavy, dark metal door to the box open.

Arete then motioned for Eitrigg to inspect the contents of the box.

As Eitrigg moved closer to see inside the box, he could see a purplish field of energy surrounding the contents. Magic was a mystery to him, but it looked as though someone went to great trouble to shield the contents of the huge metal vault. Beyond the energy field he saw gray metal canisters with glowing green rims. He could not count how many, but there could have easily been over a hundred of them.

"Plague canisters." Eitrigg said.

"The last of them, yes. Her majesty ordered the destruction of the rest of our stockpile. I give you my word as a knight, I saw to it myself. These are all that are left, and as you can see, they are under heavy guard. They're as much a threat to our own people as they are to yours or any other living person on Azeroth now." Arete said.

"Why did Sylvanas want _me_ to see them?" Eitrigg asked, turning to face the Death Knight. "I would have thought that I would be the last person she would allow near them."

"Her majesty offers this to you as a gesture of trust." Arete responded. "She honors you with her trust, and hopes you will honor her with your own."

"Hmph." Eitrigg grunted in response. "And where was that trust when she threatened to use these weapons on Orgrimmar if we didn't accede to her demands?" He asked.

"I was there, orc, when she made the same threat to Varian Wrynn's face." Arete responded, gesturing for the guard to seal the vault's door once more. "She doesn't want to use them on anyone any more than you or I do, but it gives us leverage against both the Alliance's schemes and Garrosh Hellscream's viciousness."

Eitrigg carefully noted that Arete singled out the warchief by not saying "the Horde" instead. It seemed that Sylvanas and Arete both were going to great lengths to woo him away from the young fool's side, and Eitrigg could not say that it wasn't working.

But there were still many questions to be answered.

"Her majesty wishes me to trust her?" Eitrigg asked.

"Very much so, yes." Arete responded.

"Then I have questions which will go a long way towards establishing that trust if they are answered plainly." Eitrigg told him.

Arete appeared pensive and wary for a minute or so, but then seemed to decide the reward outweighed the cost of honesty. "Ask your questions, warrior. I will tell you what I know."

"Where is regent Lor'themar?" Eitrigg demanded point blank. "He had his faults, but he was a good ruler."

Arete took a breath and sighed. "Lor'themar has joined the High Elves in Outland in building up the elven settlements and hunting down Prince Kael'thas' remaining followers. He remains in contact with her majesty through secret couriers. It was his wish that his exact whereabouts remain unknown to the warchief."

 _That is something Lor'themar might do. Kael'thas's crimes against his own people were unforgivable_. Eitrigg granted him the benefit of the doubt. He nodded his acceptance of that answer.

"Then my next question is one which the entire world wishes to know the answer to. How did this rebirth happen? It must have taken a source of healing magic of a power beyond anything anyone has ever known before. Your queen knows and is telling no one." Eitrigg asked.

At this question, Arete seemed to balk, and for a moment didn't look as though he might say anything in response. Then, he seemed to have a change of mind.

"My queen and I are bound by a promise of secrecy to not reveal the source of it, and it is not our secret to reveal." Arete told him.

"That is no answer." Eitrigg returned. "For Sylvanas to have access to such a power threatens the rest of us more than your plague canisters ever could. If she wants me to trust her more than my warchief, you will tell me what you know."

 _It matters not that I already do._ Eitrigg kept the disturbing thought to himself.

Seeing his continued reluctance, Eitrigg offered a concession, "If it is a matter of your guards hearing the tale, we can move to a more private location."

"These knights were there when it was told to us. They are my men and would fall on their own swords before revealing this secret to anyone without my say." Arete told him, gesturing towards one of them.

Eitrigg saw the guard nod solemnly in agreement.

"We would do what we must to keep this power out of irresponsible and warmongering hands." Arete continued.

"Like Garrosh's." Eitrigg said. "Or even Varian Wrynn's."

"Yes." Arete agreed, and then said, "I will say this, and hope it is not a violation of my word. It is in the sole possession of two persons chosen by a paladin goddess from another world who recently walked among us, and only those persons may wield it to any purpose. Even her majesty may not touch it much less make use of it without risking its shattering. We were all strictly warned to keep its existence a secret lest conflict break out over its possession by the ignorant."

"A goddess from another world?" Eitrigg asked skeptically. "We have not had much luck with divinities in our world, or their gifts."

"True, but I cannot complain about the results from this one." Arete replied reverently.

Eitrigg appeared to consider this line of reasoning.

He then responded after much consideration, "I will keep your secrets from Garrosh Hellscream, Lord Commander. I agree that these things must not reach the warchief's ears. Not after the crimes he has committed in the Horde's name."

"Thank you, Ambassador. Her majesty will be pleased to hear it. I will now see you back to your rooms. I hope this has done much to foster trust between her majesty and yourself." Arete replied.

"I believe it has, Death Knight. I believe it has." The old orc replied.

 _I would not dare to breath one word of this to the warchief. That is, at least not_ that _warchief._ Eitrigg kept that thought to himself as his thoughts turned towards the ink and parchment at his desk.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The sun had just begun its rise in the east, and the clouds were painted in red, orange, and gold as it began its ascent and trek across the sky that morning. Dew still dampened the loamy ground and bluish green foliage in the elven woods surrounding the ruins of the ancient Kaldorei town. The forest air was cool and moist when a puddle of bluish energy, standing perpendicular to the ground, discreetly unfolded itself from nowhere and expanded itself among the trees and wild growth into an ovoid shape as large as a man. Two figures stepped out of the portal, a hooded human man wearing crimson robes and carrying a gnarled wooden staff, and an orc woman, her green and lavender scale armor covered over by a thick hooded cloak of hide and rabbit fur to keep the morning's chill away, though it did little to hide the bulge of her sword's hilt. After a few moments, the shining surface of the energy portal collapsed back in on itself, and faded from existence.

"It's earlier here than I anticipated." Gereth told his wife in a low whispered voice as they both oriented themselves to the sudden change in space between late morning in Dalaran and dawn within Ashenvale's eastern forest.

"I don't remember this place. Where did you put us?" Shaggara asked, keeping her own voice low as well, looking at the woods around her.

"I intended to place us near the tower but away from Alliance friendly eyes. I might be able to talk my way around them now, but you my dearest still cannot." Gereth told her as he surveyed their surroundings himself.

The orc warrior woman said nothing in reply, but continued to listen and observe, allowing the scents on the morning air to play across her nostrils for clues as to what the forest might be hiding from them. Soon, she caught the faint familiar scent of the original inhabitants of this forest, and the scent of that people that shared her people's former homeworld.

"We are close by." She pronounced. "They are that direction." She said, pointing east towards the sunrise hidden by the trees.

"Are you sure? I know your orc nose is better than my human one, but I don't remember it being that sharp." Gereth asked, looking in the direction she pointed.

It was true, now that she thought about it. Her sense of smell seemed to have increased tenfold as the smells and tastes of the forest flooded her senses. It felt overwhelming yet unusually familiar, like the green growth around her was her natural place in the world, and she its guardian.

But one thing she was certain of was that there were definitely night elves and draenei directly east of them. And this meant that they were right where they intended to be.

"I'm certain. Forest Song is not far this way." She told him.

She led him through the brush and trees, continuing to crouch low, and encouraging Gereth to do the same. His sense of wonder at his wife's curious behavior only increased as she moved stealthily, and silently across the forest floor like a jungle cat, stalking its prey. She stepped lightly like a dancer gracefully avoiding any twigs or fallen leaves which might crack or make noise as she passed. Gereth knew orcs were natural hunters and warriors, but he had never seen anyone move like Shaggara did now unless it were one of the night elf druids he might have encountered in his adventures. And certainly, he had never seen an orc do so. Indeed, the longer they moved through the forest, the more energy and vitality Shaggara seemed to draw from it.

Shaggara kept her eyes in front of her. Her sight was sharper than it ever had been before as every leaf, every insect, every blade of grass seemed to slow down and come into focus for her. She could see and even feel the juices flowing through the tiniest veins of a nearby moonberry bush's leaves. The heartbeat of a shadowhorn stag somewhere nearby pulsed rhythmically with her own heart. Not far off, somehow she knew there was a mother timberwolf nursing her new pups in her den, and she felt the pricklings of her own dormant maternal instincts rising to the surface.

It was as though she _was_ the forest and the forest was her.

And as they drew nearer to the Alliance encampment effort to restore and understand the ancient night elf settlement called Forest Song, she also knew something was wrong in this world she was intimately connected with. There was another scent on the air which didn't belong there.

"Orcs." She whispered to Gereth.

"Orcs? What do you mean?" He asked.

"I smell other orcs near here, many of them, directly ahead in the dig site and in the surrounding woods. The scent is growing stronger the closer we come." She told him, her whispered voice alarmed.

"The warchief has been pushing deeper and deeper into night elf territory according to the council's information." Gereth remarked. "But I don't know why he would be interested in Forest Song, unless the queen betrayed our trust, there's nothing here of value that _he_ knows of except the ruins and a group of scholars."

A betrayal by his queen was entirely possible, Gereth knew, but he had given her his trust that she wouldn't after seeing the expressions of sincere, tearful gratitude which she showed them that day months ago in Dalaran. The Lady made clear that she too understood the danger of making the existence of the Golden Flame known, especially to the orc chieftain.

Shaggara didn't know either. But the warrior woman doubted the presence of her people was due to any scholarly interest on the part of the reckless young warchief. And though they were her people, she would not stand for an attack on otherwise harmless bookworms and dirt diggers. A battle against armed sentinels and warriors was one thing, the slaughter of defenseless scholars was another.

 _That would be just as bad as…_ She paused as her mind threw up a blank wall. _It would be just as bad as…_ But the memory would not come, though she knew one was there.

They reached the edge of a cliff which overlooked the ruins and crouched down low to blend in as much as possible with the natural surroundings. The two observed the scene below them with some disgust. Shaggara's heart began to fill with rage at the sight which met her enhanced vision as she couldn't pull her eyes away.

Forest Song was a large clearing in the middle of the woods in which sat dozens of stone and marble buildings in various states of disrepair. Fallen columns and colonnades lay scattered around the site. On the west end rose a tower some three or four stories off the ground with a bridge allowing access from the forest floor to a sealed stone doorway. Canvas and leather tents had been erected around the site in various locations by the archaeologists.

Shaggara saw the team of scholars there among the ruins. Dozens of them in their dig clothes along with the night elf and draenei sentinels who had been tasked with guarding the site. Their blue and lavender bodies were impaled and crucified on stakes that had been driven into the ground. The heads of the harmless Alliance scholars had been piled in a heap nearby. The stench of their mingled blood, spilled on the ground assaulted her nose in a way that similar smells on a battlefield never did. It was so strong, she didn't understand why the scent hadn't reached her until now.

"Holy Light." Gereth exclaimed, the gorge rising in his throat as he tore his own eyes away from the sight. "What happened here?"

Red banners displaying the sigils of both the Horde and the Warsong clan flew on posts that had been driven into the ground alongside the impaled bodies. Along the ground, she saw a dozen orc grunts in leather and iron mail stationed around the site. Her sharp sight took note of the blue and red bloodstains which decorated their axes.

The orc warrior woman didn't particularly care for either the night elves or the draenei. They had been her enemies on the battlefield at times, and again at other times she had fought alongside them against common enemies. In this, their deaths meant nothing to her. But her kinsmen had dishonored themselves and their clan by the slaughter, and by extension herself, and had all but ensured a fresh, needless war between the Horde and the Alliance with the atrocity.

Shaggara's field of vision began to fill with red as a rage at the dishonor which had been brought to her clan's name filled her. She cast aside the cloak which she had been wearing revealing her taught, warrior's muscles and druidic, dracon scale armor gifted to her by Ysera herself. Her left hand went to the Sword of Mastery's hilt.

This disgrace would not go unavenged.

Seeing her deadly intent, Gereth put his hand on her arm to stop her. "My love, we don't know what's really going on yet. It doesn't make any sense. I don't see anyone down there with any kind of rank, just grunts, and there's only a dozen..."

But she couldn't hear him any more. All she could hear were the cries of the innocent blood which had been shed, and the cry of the land which had been defiled by it. The Blade of Nature's Wrath had been unsheathed and it refused to return to its home until nature's wrath had been satisfied.

"FOR THE HORDE!" She bellowed savagely as she leapt like a panther from the low cliff directly into the middle of the oblivious and surprised grunts, her sword raised high for the strike impaling itself in one orc soldier upon landing only to slide free and slice the head off another grunt before he knew what was happening.

Her lethal movements were fluid and graceful, and as she moved with lethal intent the armored grunts appeared to her to react in slow motion as the sword bit again and again into bright green orc flesh. None of the surprised soldiers could land a blow with their weapons on her as her agile movements ducked, dodged, spun, and rolled with deadly precision.

"Nether spawned Demon!" An orc voice cried out near her as an axe attempted to sever her torso from her legs. The owner of the voice soon fell silent, his own head having fallen from its original perch.

Soon, the heads of a dozen orc soldiers joined those of their slain night elf victims on the ground, and Shaggara was the only living being left standing in the middle of the marble and stone ruins. Her body tensed, her sword held in a stance ready to strike, but there was no one left for it to wreak its vengeance upon. All that was left to the ancient town was the silence and stench of death.

 _COLD!_

Her body froze where it was as it became encased in ice which crept all the way up to her neck before stopping. She couldn't move, and she could barely breath.

"What is this?!" She demanded.

"Impressive, warrior!" A young but deep voice assaulted her ears from somewhere above her. "You are a true orc in almost every respect!" Then it taunted, "Except for the company you keep!"

Shaggara strained her neck trying to see where the voice was coming from, only to discover that it was coming from the cliff overhead where she had left Gereth.

 _Gereth?!_ What had happened to her mate?

She strained further and saw her husband's crimson robes dangling from his body above the ground. It was being held up by his neck in a massive greenish brown hand attached to an even larger, muscular orc's body. This orc had a shaved head, and thorny guards protected his shoulders, though he wore no breastplate. In his other hand he held a massive war axe that she recognized as the one which her clan's chieftain wielded decades before.

"GERETH!" Shaggara cried out.

Gereth's eyes were closed that she could see, and somewhere within her she knew his heart was still beating.

"LET HIM GO!" She demanded, now knowing who the monster was who held her mate's life literally in the palm of her hand.

"So, you're attached to this human plaything of yours then?!" Garrosh taunted her. "So weak and soft, just like these fools digging in the dirt here. Not like you and I, are they warrior?"

Shaggara's rage at her warchief ran hot within her, but she did not reply. The mage ice, and she was certain that's what was holding her, wouldn't last forever. And when the spell failed, the Horde would need a new warchief. She would make sure of it.

Strength drew into her from the trees and wildlife surrounding the ruins. The deer nearby, hiding from the soldiers; the insects crawling just under the soil; the mighty and ancient trees which had stood for millennia and had seen the town in its life all lent their strength and vitality to her and she could feel it coursing through her.

"Ugh!" Shaggara cried out as another wave of intense cold hit and stunned her.

 _Garrosh brought his own shamans and mages to this slaughter, but why?_ She didn't understand. _What did he think was so important here? What did we stumble into?_

"You won't be breaking through the mage ice until I give the word!" Garrosh told her. "I will make this simple, and then I will let you have your plaything back... alive even."

"What do you want?!" She demanded from him.

Garrosh set the unconscious mage down on his feet, but did not relinquish his grip from around Gereth's neck. Shaggara knew that all the warchief had to do was squeeze, and Gereth's neck and head would shatter like an egg. The warchief knew it too.

"My spy tells me you hold a relic so powerful that it changed our entire world in seconds. Imagine what the true Horde could do with such power! The Burning Legion would bow before us! Orcs would finally be free of these weak, lesser creatures and take their rightful place as this world's true masters! The Alliance would be destroyed in an instant! You are an orc. You are above these weaklings. By the look of you you're even Warsong clan! As chieftain of the Warsong clan, I claim this relic as property of the Horde. My property. I want you to give it to me." Garrosh told her.

The orc warrior woman glared at him, about to tell him where he could shove the relic and how far. Then she looked at Gereth's unmoving, though still breathing frame.

"Don't misunderstand. There is no choice to be made, warrior. My mages will extract this relic from you with, or without your cooperation." Garrosh further told her as he began to descend the cliff, continuing to carry Gereth's form with him. "You only need be held still while they do so."

An intense, electric shock ran through her body as it convulsed within the ice. Excruciating Pain shot through her and focused itself on her hand as arcane energies from unseen sorcerers began to wrench the Golden Flame from where it had integrated itself into her being. It was a horrendous torment, but she refused to cry out.

She wouldn't give the orc skinned demons surrounding her the satisfaction.

Shaggara's mind reeled as the worst possible nightmare scenario was unfolding before her eyes, and she could do nothing to stop it. She felt the Triforce which she carried being torn from her very existence. It felt as though her very soul were being ripped apart.

The warchief came to stand in front of her to watch the procedure unfold. His expression seemed uneasy with the energies which he knew nothing about being used to procure his prize.

Shaggara's glare at him became deadly as she said amidst the pain, "I will find you, monster. I will find you, and I will feed your entrails to your own worgs. I swear this on my honor."

The warchief paused for a moment, his attention diverted from the extraction. He looked into her eyes for a brief instant and the sincerity of her words registered. He then responded with a leering smile, "I look forward to it, bitch. Until then, you will have to make do with your plaything."

Garrosh released Gereth, dropping the mage to the ground as three triangles joined together as one, radiant and burning with white golden energies, began to emerge from Shaggara's hand and levitate between them.

"Don't touch it!" Shaggara cried out.

Garrosh snarled, "I answer to no one, bitch. None may command me."

The warchief then reached out his hand to take hold of the Golden Flame. His huge orc fingers made contact with the other dimensional artifact. The relic began to surge with tremendous energies, and the ground began to shake underneath them.

And then the whole world exploded around Shaggara in a blaze of blue light, and everything went dark.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Storms raged overhead. Greenish gray clouds pulsed and glowed with the lightning like discharges of powerful energies which boomed and shook the sky as though it might crack open at any moment.

The orc warrior woman stood in the middle of barren red desert plains. Hills and buttes, somehow familiar to her appeared in the not too far distance. The ground beneath her was cracked as though all moisture had vanished long ago. There was not a living thing to be seen, no scorpids, no desert brush or cacti, nothing. Nothing that is, except the monstrosity which stood before her, a massive war axe in one hand, and her husband's broken human body in the other.

"Gereth, no!" Shaggara screamed, the emerald pommeled Sword of Mastery in her left hand, as the horned green demon flung her mate to the side.

"You bastard!" She raged at the thing that could no longer be called an orc.

The orc like thing grew in size until its presence engulfed the barren and dry red desert plains. Great horns like those of a ram crowned the creature and giant, leathery wings like those of the dragon Deathwing himself erupted from its back.

"I will have you, bitch. You will bow to me as this entire world, this entire universe will bow to me!" The demon bellowed at her.

And then there was an explosion of blue light around her, and everything went dark for an instant. The scene changed to a peaceful, quiet grotto of trees and a cool, clear glowing pool of water in the center surrounded by the wooden arches so common to Kaldorei structures. The water shone with the silver light of the moon.

The brownish green skinned warrior stood on soft loamy soil, and the smells of living earth surrounded her, just as the calming breeze gently stroked her exposed skin not covered by her armor.

"Where am I?" Shaggara demanded in confusion. "What has happened?! Where is my mate?!"

A female voice without an owner, calm and cool as a forest breeze rustled through the leaves of the trees around the pool. "You must stop him, Hero of Azeroth. You must not allow this to come to pass. Take back the Triforce of Power from him or all will be lost."

Shaggara knew she had heard the voice before, though that too felt like a dream or another lifetime. It was strong, maternal, and somewhat raspy.

"What?" Shagara turned around and around in confusion in the midst of the trees. "I don't understand!" She shouted in frustration.

"Find the balance. Restore the balance, Hero. _All_ of Azeroth now depends on _you_." The voice told her as it faded away.

And then her eyes opened.

The scents of exotic spices and teas wafted into her nostrils. She found herself laying down on her back, and felt silken sheets on a large, soft bed beneath her. Her neck felt gently cradled by an equally soft pillow which was meant for a creature of much more girth than herself. The ceiling above her looked to be made of large bamboo poles and thatch. As she turned her head from one side to the other, she noticed that the walls of the structure appeared to be made of interlaced strips of the hardy material as well. She had been covered over with a light blue blanket made from windwool, a light but strong fabric which she knew was found only in the southernmost continent of their world. The simple but exotic decorations on the wall, and the monk's staff which leaned near a doorway confirmed her conclusions.

"You're awake." A soft spoken and gentle voice spoke to her in accented common. "I was beginning to really worry, my friend. Your chi was…" The familiar voice paused as though searching for the right word, "difficult to untangle for one such as myself. My humble skills in the healing arts are not as great as those of the masters in the great shrines and monasteries of our people. I am glad you returned to us."

Shaggara sat up, her muscles and joints sore from the effort. She looked towards the owner of the voice, still not certain if she was dreaming or awake. He was a large Pandaren. His head was covered in white fur with the exception of black circles around his eyes, and soft black fur around his ears. His face sported a thin mustache of wiskers, and equally thin goatee. The alternation of white and black fur continued across his body and under the simple monk's tunic and breeches he wore.

"Guozhi?" Shaggara asked. "Where am I? How are you..."

"Your confusion is understandable, honorable Shaggara." Guozhi responded. Then he gestured with a polite smile towards a porcelain teapot from whose spout steam rose lazily, and white porcelain cups adorned with a cobalt blue glaze. "Please, allow me to pour you some tea, and I will explain how you have come to be with me in my humble village."

Then the memory of what had happened hit her like a punch to the gut, and her body shuddered.

"Gereth?" She asked as she accepted a fruity scented cup of tea.

"He is well, honorable warrior. I admit, I did not recognize him when you and he first appeared. Much about him has changed." The Pandaren said with a genuine smile. "Of course, much about the mighty Shaggara has changed as well. I am glad you have reclaimed yourself. It gives me great satisfaction to know that you have discovered who you are at last. You seemed quite lost when first we met."

"Where is Gereth?" She asked again.

"He said he had a message to deliver to someone very important. He promised to return as soon as he could." Guozhi explained as he sipped from the cup of tea he held delicately in his huge black, paw-like hands.

Shaggara nodded and then took a sip from the cup he had offered her. She tried to process the memories of her last moments before waking up in the gentle monk's house, but they felt dark and confused. The tea was just as she remembered it, fruity and gently spiced so as not to overpower the other subtle flavors. Guozhi's Pandaren philosophy of balance and harmony extended towards even his beverage brewing. Gereth had tried to replicate it with his magic. It was a good attempt, but it was not Guozhi's tea brewing. The humble monk had raised the simple practice of immersing dried plant leaves and petals in boiling water into a high and well developed art form.

Immediately, the tea went to work on her system, clearing her mind, and granting her a sense of calmness and peace. She didn't know what herbs and spices went into the Pandaren concotions, but she couldn't deny the power of them.

And then she remembered the last few minutes before she awoke, and her confrontation with the monster Garrosh Hellscream. She would not, could not consider him her warchief after that. Never again. She remembered with crystal clarity his fingers touching the three, golden white triangles which had been merged together into one. And then her memory erupted in a flash of azure energies.

Able to think again, she asked her old friend, "Guozhi, what happened? How did we get here? We were in Ashenvale, in Kalimdor far to the north of Pandaria."

"You have been asleep for two days, honorable Shaggara." Guozhi responded. "I was tending my garden outside in the morning when a great blue flash of light happened and I found you and a human man lying on top of my carrot patch. Imagine my surprise when I found out that the human man was my old friend Gereth! You were unconscious and badly injured. Honorable Gereth, could not bring himself to stand he was so weak, and he had bad bruises around his throat and neck, but he was still able to talk to me. I brought you both into my house and set to work on caring for you, my Horde friends. I have never seen a person's chi as misaligned and damaged as I saw yours to be. It took many hours of accupressure and our medicinal arts before your sleep was peaceful and I could be certain we would not lose you, my friend."

Shaggara digested this new information as Guozhi continued.

"Honorable Gereth would not leave your side until we were both confident you would not pass on to the ancestral spirits. He told me of the terrible things which happened to you, and showed me a most unusual mark on his right hand. He said it meant something truly horrible for all of Azeroth, and that he must warn his queen of what it meant. You have a similar mark on your left hand, I think, do you not?" The Pandaren said, motioning to her left gauntlet with his own hand.

Shaggara looked down at the back of her hand. There on the back of her gauntlet was the three triangle symbol which had become familiar to her. It glowed gently against the green dragonscales of her gauntlets. But there was something wrong. Two of the triangles were now only faint outlines, while only the one on the bottom left remained solid.

Two parts of the Triforce were gone.

"Gereth had a mark like this? It was visible through his glove? It was on his right hand?" She asked her questions in rapid fire, trying to understand what it meant.

The Pandaren raised his eyebrows in some surprise at the aggressiveness of her questioning, and then answered, "Yes. To all your questions. Honorable Gereth seemed disturbed by this as well, but he would not tell me exactly what it meant. He only said, 'Garrosh must have the third piece.' Does that mean anything to you, my friend? Is not Garrosh the name of your honorable warchief?"

"Garrosh has no honor." Shaggara nearly spat. "And I will not own him warchief, not even in name."

"I see." Guozhi replied calmly, sipping his tea contemplatively. "And the third piece he spoke of?"

 _The third piece?_ She asked herself as she looked at her hand again. _Three pieces of the Golden Flame: one for Wisdom, one for Courage, and one for Power._

And then she realized what Gereth must have, and remembered what she had been told. _The Golden Flame has been broken apart! Each piece chose its own bearer!_

She looked at her hand more closely. _This looks like the mark for Courage I saw on Zelda's mate's hand. That means Gereth must have either Wisdom or Power._ Then a sickening realization came to her, as well as the implications of it. _Garrosh cares nothing for wisdom._

"Power." She nearly choked as she said it. "Garrosh must have the Triforce of Power."

She then saw the confusion on her Pandaren friend's face, though he said nothing but waited for her to proceed when she was ready. She had held her secret close for months, and was hesitant in revealing it now. But she knew the humble monk, Guozhi, and knew he cared nothing for the unbelievable power the relic granted. He was a person content with his philosophy, his gardens, and his martial exercises. He regarded a cup of tea and quiet meditation to be more powerful than any army or engine of war. She knew he could be trusted with the secret, and give sound counsel.

She then explained, remembering what she had been told by Zelda about these artifacts and what she had seen of their powers with her own eyes, "The Triforce is a powerful and ancient relic from the time of the Titans and the old gods. Just one piece of this relic grants enormous ability to the bearer. Together, they grant the bearer whatever they might desire, bending reality itself to make it happen. The Golden Flame is the Triforce which belongs to this world, and it has been broken into its three pieces, Wisdom, Courage, and Power. The mark on my hand is the mark for Courage."

She showed him the back of her gauntlet. "And Garrosh Hellscream cares nothing for wisdom. That part of the Golden Flame would not choose him to be its bearer. He must have the Triforce of Power. It was only the three of us who were near the Golden Flame when he touched it. We were told many times that the three virtues must be in balance for the person who touches the relic or it will break apart, and it did when Garrosh touched it. Garrosh is a monster. He kills without honor and if he has gained this new relic, he will destroy anyone in his path."

Guozhi continued to sip his tea in quiet contemplation of the new information which had been given him. He did this for several minutes, waiting to see if Shaggara was finished. When she had no more to say, he drained his cup and set it on a low wooden table next to his chair. He then folded his hands in front of him. His expression took on a serious, and disturbed look.

"It is a terribly thing when one's chi within oneself is out of harmony. It causes diseases of the mind and body, and can move a person with great potential for good to do terrible and harmful things to others, not seeing the greater harm which is being done to himself." Guozhi then said in a pained, compassionate voice. "Warchief Garrosh must be suffering immensely to cause such great suffering to others. I feel deeply for him, as I do for you and my friend Gereth."

 _Feel deeply for him?_ Shaggara's anger began to rise, though not as much as it might have were it any other person.

"You don't understand, Guozhi. Garrosh Hellscream must be destroyed, or all of Azeroth will be." Shaggara told the seemingly naive monk.

"Forgive me, honorable Shaggara. There is indeed much I do not understand about the world outside of our lands. Indeed, there is much I do not understand about the world within Pandaria itself! I do not understand how a caterpillar might become a butterfly, and yet I marvel at it. I do not understand how the love between a man and a woman might result in another life, and yet it is a miracle to me. But I do understand the nature of hate, and the forces it unleashes upon those who are carried away by it. One cannot destroy hate with more hate, honorable warrior. One must first let go of that hate and anger, and then one may see clearly what must be done. It is this disease of hate which must be treated first, and then one's path will become plain."

"You think Garrosh will listen to reason?" Shaggara asked incredulously.

"I do not know if Garrosh will listen to reason. But I am hoping you will, my old friend." Guozhi responded. "It is true the evil within the warchief must be destroyed. Whether the being that carries that evil within him must be in order to achieve it is another matter."

Shaggara's anger rose along with her voice. "Garrosh Hellscream dishonorably murdered the good and wise chieftain, Cairne Bloodhoof. He turned Thrall's city of trade and noble honor into a netherspawned hole for butchers and mercenaries. He sacrificed Horde troops needlessly so he could dishonorably murder innocents by dropping a mana bomb on a kingdom which the Horde had declared a truce with. He ordered the slaughter of defenseless scholars and archaeologists who had nothing of value for him. He left a dozen orc grunts to be killed by..." She then stopped herself from finishing her sentence, remembering how they died. "He is a monster and deserves to be destroyed." She finally declared, nearly spitting with the wrath which had built up inside of her.

Guozhi once again waited patiently for her to finish, not interrupting her at all. When he was certain she was done, he spoke calmly and gently. "In order to destroy the monster in another, we must first slay the monster within ourselves. How can you destroy the warchief's hate with your own? I agree that such a being must be stopped from causing more harm to others in our world, and I will help you in this goal, but first you must restore the balance within yourself."

"I'm fine." Shaggara told him angrily as she attempted to rise to her feet. "I'll stop him myself."

Guozhi made no attempt to prevent her from rising, but merely watched.

"Ugh!" Shaggara winced as she tried putting her full weight on her legs. They held her up for a few seconds, and then she was forced back to her seated position on the Panderan's bed.

"Your courage and resolve are not in question, my friend." The monk told her as she landed on her hind quarters. "You are strong, honorable Shaggara. I had not expected you to be able to stand up so soon. I have rarely seen such damage to one's chi as I saw within you. Your strength has not fully returned, and there is no way to return to your homeland until honorable Gereth returns to take you."

"I'll find a way." She told him. "With or without your help. I'll go to the Shrine of Two Moons north of here. There are portals to Orgrimmar from there."

"That is a very long journey from here on foot, and it can be very dangerous as well." The monk told her. "I do not think you would be able to reach the shrine for many weeks, not like this."

"Then what do you want from me?!" She demanded. "I have to do something!"

"I want nothing from you my friend. I am your host. It is my duty to share what I have and give to you." Guozhi told her, a compassionate sincerity in his kind eyes. "I ask only that you remain here with me and be still. At least until you are strong enough to walk on your own, that is. And when the time comes for you to go, I offer myself as your humble companion to help you."

"I can't just sit here and do nothing! Not with the whole world at stake!" She fumed, though her resistance to his gentle demeanor was fading. No matter how angry and frustrated she felt, she couldn't remain angry with her Pandaren friend.

"I did not say, 'do nothing', honorable Shaggara. Being still and doing nothing are two very different things. You told me Wisdom, Power, and Courage must be in balance, yes? This is very like the lines of chi energy within your being. It is not difficult to see that your chi is out of balance still. You have great courage, my friend, but you lack the power to act on it at the moment. And courage without wisdom is reckless foolishness." Guozhi told her. "Patience. Be still. Allow yourself to find harmony once more, and then you will be ready at the proper time to stop the thing you fear."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Garrosh felt exhilarated. An energy like he'd never felt before ran through his entire orc frame. He couldn't sleep. Or more accurately, he felt no _need_ to sleep. The sleeping mats in his personal chambers had lain unused for two nights, ever since he acquired the relic.

It had left its mark, a rune of some power, on the back of his right hand. The faintly luminescent gold outline of three triangles joined as one. The bottom two were hollow while the apex glowed solid against his brownish green skin.

The very earth had trembled when he first touched the thing, and then somehow it had _absorbed_ itself into his very body, dissolving into the skin and muscles of his right hand. It brought with it an irritating, itching sensation that had initially faded away, but chose to return every now and then like a fly buzzing around him.

His problem, as he stalked through the orc capital in the middle of the night, was that he did not know how to make full use of this new weapon in his considerable arsenal. It was arcane magic, that much was certain to him. Even over the last two days he noticed his underlings to be far more compliant and less resistant to his commands, even those orders he knew were unreasonable and petty. This was a welcome change to him.

He wasn't unaware of their back door dealings, and the hidden threats against him regardless of how stupid these people seemed to think he was. Could he have won those battles in Northrend if he were a moron? He knew he was not popular as a warchief. That much had been made obvious over the course of his time as warchief. His Kor'kron guards had stopped numerous plots against him, and spared him the tediousness of having to order the execution of so many traitors, most of whom were found to be tauren or trolls.

He had a mind to wipe them all out, and let the orcs take full control of their Horde once again. His problem up until this point was that he needed their numbers to fill out his armies. Cannon fodder had its uses in battle, even disloyal cannon fodder.

The drag was quiet that night. All he heard around him were the sounds of his grunts patrolling the streets. Most of the windows of the structures in the natural thin canyon between the buttes of the city were dark, their candles and torches having been put out hours beforehand. That was just as well. The warchief didn't need any unwanted eyes prying into his business.

Eitrigg had made his reports on time over the last two days. At least the old fool was punctual. They told Garrosh nothing of real value, though he hadn't really expected anything. They were filled with descriptions of civil construction projects, and reports of who were in leadership position in the elven bitch's government. He also mentioned that Sylvanas had also ordered Stormwind's troops out of her "kingdom" on threat of the plague weapons as well. According to his "ambassador", Stormwind appeared to be complying. That, at least, had been useful information. It meant she had no friend in Varian Wrynn either. There was no one to ride to her rescue. Not that there would be once he learned to use the relic he now carried.

Garrosh turned left down into a dark, and strangely lit shadowy cleft in the canyon wall. Since Orgrimmar's founding, the Cleft of Shadow had been a haven for rogues, thieves, and warlocks whose presence his predecessor had tolerated. Recently, it had come to be the refuge of the few mages that had chosen to remain in the city, including the master orc mage, Marud, the successor to the former troll witch that taught magic in Thrall's Orgrimmar.

It was Marud he sought.

Here in the cleft, away from the watchful eyes of the more "noble" of Orgrimmar's denizens, things were not so quiet at night. Indeed, night was when most of the Cleft of Shadow's business was conducted and he heard many voices fall silent as he passed across the stone floors and natural bridges of the cavern like section of his city.

 _Good_. He thought. _They fear me as they should._

He knew where Orgrimmar's master mage was to be found. Nothing went on in this city that he did not know about. And if it did, he soon would. Marud's den was well known to him and he made straight for the shanty like dwelling.

Garrosh made no pretense at polite necessities as he stalked into the dwelling. That was not his way, and it shouldn't have been the orc way. The mage he wanted was standing over a table. Books with writing he couldn't read and arcane runes incribed across their pages lay open and spread out over the tabletop.

Marud was older than himself. He was certain of that. But the mage was not so old that his hair had begun to gray. He wore a dirty orange and blue cloth robe of the kind favored by magic users of his race, though his feet were bare. He looked up startled from his studies at his warchief, first fear, and then a resignation beginning to spread across his tusked face.

"How does magic work, mage?" Garrosh demanded gruffly from the mage. "Tell me."

The mage's heavy, almost hairless eyebrows went up in surprise. Clearly, that was not the beginning of the topic he had expected. Garrosh would have to keep an eye on him after he was no longer useful to him.

Clearing his throat, Marud replied, "It takes years of study to master..."

Garrosh cut him off with a gesture. His outstretched hand, palm up had the effect of shutting up what was likely to be a long and boring lecture which would tell him nothing.

"I don't need a useless lecture, mage. I need to know how it works." The warrior chieftain had neither the time nor the inclination to spend the rest of his life with his nose buried in a book. "How do you make the power work for you?"

Murad looked in his warchief's eyes as though he were studying one of his pupils to discover their true intent. It annoyed the warchief, and he had a mind to use the back of his open hand on the mage for his impudence.

"Fundamentally," the mage began to answer him, using his hands to gesture in the air. As he did, pictures which his fingertips created as though a stylus on wax appeared in front of the warchief. "There are two components necessary to use magic, warchief, regardless of the magic being used."

 _Good_. Garrosh thought as he watched the pictures in the air while the instructor of magic spoke. _This may be useful_.

"The first is the magic energies being used. The source of energy we as mages use is the arcane energies, or raw magical energies which exist within the atmosphere of our world. Other sources are dependent on the school or discipline of magic. Shamans use the elements, druids the energies of nature, priests the Holy Light or the Shadow, and so on. But there must be an energy source to tap into and make use of." Marud explained, images of magic users practicing their craft danced in front of the warchief enhanced with what almost looked like mechanical drawings of how it was done.

"Go on. You said there were two." Garrosh told him.

"Yes, warchief. The second is the focal point for the magic. This is most often a word, an image, or a thought, but it can also be an object such as a wand or a staff. The magic user must will the energy to manifest using the focal point. For example, if I wish to create a flame in the palm of my hand..." Marud paused for a minute, opened his hand, and held it out to the warchief palm up. He closed his eyes and spoke a single word quietly. Within a few seconds a small but substantial flame erupted in the center of his emerald green palm. It flickered for a short time, and then Marud closed his hand into a fist again, dousing the flame.

"How did you do that?" Garrosh asked. "I saw you move your lips."

"It is a basic spell, one of the first taught to apprentices for them to practice with. It uses the ancient Kaldorei word for 'fire' as the focus point, though the language of the spell isn't as important as the intent of the caster and the belief that it will happen." The mage instructor replied.

"Belief?" Garrosh asked.

"Belief might be considered the third component, forgive me warchief. Nothing will happen, the magic will not respond if you do not believe that it will. Disbelief inhibits the flow of the energies." Marud responded.

The warchief considered the mage's words well. He then held his own right hand out in imitation of the mage's, palm up. As a warrior, he had trained his ability to focus on the battlefield. Focusing on the intent of producing a flame should not be difficult, he considered.

"Warchief, it can take a first time apprentice many years to master the control of their focus enough to produce what I just showed you even when they already understand how to tap into the energies necessary." The mage tried to warn him.

Garrosh first focused his intent on the power which had taken hold within him. He then willed that power to manifest itself as a ball of fire in his open hand. He could feel the energies rushing within him, responding to his command easily, belief in the result was not hard to achieve when one's senses told him of it.

Soon, a strong, threatening ball of white hot flame erupted within Garrosh's open hand. The heat burned against his palm, but the pain exhilarated him with his success. After a few seconds, he closed his hand tightly in a fist, killing the fire he had created.

"I had no idea you had such a talent, my warchief!" Marud said with surprise and some eagerness. "I can teach you more, if you would be willing..."

"Yes, mage." Garrosh Hellscream replied ominously, a twisted smile creeping across his lips. "You _will_ teach me more."

Sylvanas Windrunner stood in front of the solid metal and magic vault containing her people's remaining arsenal of plague and blight weapons. She did not move, and she did not speak to anyone. She merely stared at the vault in contemplation, the expression on her attractive, finely sculptured elven face unreadable.

She did not like this room in the Undercity. More than any other, it reminded her of who and what her people, and she, had been. The memories were still raw and fresh in her mind.

The news she had received from the Kirin Tor mage who had entrusted her with his secret had not been the news she had been expecting that day. After hearing it, she had dismissed her advisers, and calmly made her way down to this chamber as she considered what must be done in response.

Finally, after what might have been minutes or hours as all possible outcomes ran through her mind, without turning her head, she told the Death Knight standing closest to her, "Send for Eitrigg. I wish to speak with him. Send also for Lord Commander Arete to meet me in my personal chambers which I am finished with the orc."

"Yes, my queen." The Death Knight replied, immediately moving to carry out her wishes.

There were things she needed to know, information of two very different kinds from both men. Her response to that information would dictate her actions for the next twenty four hours. The question which burned in her mind and heart was which response she could now live with.

Ironically, it had been Garrosh who had told her, once upon a time, that they would all face their Maker in judgment eventually. In her undeath, she had fought to put that judgment off for as long as possible, knowing what divine punishments must await her. She knew she had committed heinous crimes against nature, against the gods, and against the living, all in the name of protecting her people and taking her revenge on the Lich King.

When she was reborn, she had seen it as perhaps a mercy from whatever divinities there might be, a second chance at redemption and peace, and one which she sought to make good on while still protecting her people, both elven and human. But her people were fewer in number, and badly needed time to rebuild their population the natural way. Destroying all but these remaining canisters and using them as leverage to buy that time for her people seemed a sound strategy. The truth was, she had never thought either Varian Wrynn or Garrosh Hellscream would risk pushing her to this point, knowing what sins she was capable of committing. It had been a well calculated gamble with much to gain if it succeeded.

But now, the very power which had brought salvation to her and all of Lordaeron hung as a sword over their heads in the hands of a ruthless and immoral warchief. What would he do with it? What sins were possible in the hands of the Outland orc chieftain? How long would it be before he turned that power against Lordaeron in retribution for her own sins, real or imagined?

 _Would such a Maker forgive me if I had the power to stop him and did not act?_ She wondered.

Some time passed as she continued in her silent contemplation. She did not know how long, neither did she care. She assumed the knight she sent to carry out her orders did not stop to dally. She heard the heavy footfalls of a large, well muscled creature upon the stone of the former "laboratory".

Not turning or acknowledging his presence with any motion of her body. She continued to stare at the vault as she spoke, her voice holding only the slightest tremor of emotion to it, "Have I earned your trust yet, Eitrigg?"

"You have made great strides towards that goal, your majesty." Eitrigg replied diplomatically.

"That is a fair answer." She told him. "Have I at least more of your trust than the warchief?"

Eitrigg was quiet for a minute, and then replied in his deep voice, "I believe you already know the answer to that, else you would not have sent for me to return here."

"True." She told him. "Tell me, Ambassador, how many children are there in Orgrimmar? How many new warriors does the Horde raise for its next generation?"

"Many, your majesty." Eitrigg replied. "There are many fine, strong young warriors that have yet to be weaned from their mothers' breasts."

"There were many children in Stormwind when we visited too. Little ones running all over the place, playing, laughing, innocent of all that you and I have experienced and done in our lifetimes. We have no new children yet." She continued. "It is too soon since the rebirth. I have heard news of many pregnancies, but no births. Not yet. I had hoped to see the first before the end of the year."

"It is always a marvelous thing to see such a life created." Eitrigg replied behind her. "If I may ask, why can we not discuss this subject in a more agreeable place, your majesty?"

Sylvanas then turned around slowly to face him. As she did, a single tear fell from her eye and rolled down her cheek. "Because this subject we must discuss is not an agreeable one to anyone. Lord Commander Arete informed me of your discussion with him in this place, and his answers. He told you of the power which transformed us."

Eitrigg's face showed surprise, and concern at the queen's appearance and new topic of conversation. Alarm followed slowly across his aged orcish features.

"He did not tell me the details of it, but he told me enough, so yes. What has happened?" Eitrigg asked.

"I trust you did not inform Garrosh of this information. I like to think I can read people well." Sylvanas said.

"I did not." Eitrigg replied honestly, though said no more of what he had done.

"And Thrall received your letter on the subject?" She then asked expectantly. Her voice was not accusing, but merely inquiring.

 _It should not surprise me that she knows._ Eitrigg thought to himself.

"I received his reply this afternoon, your majesty." He told her. "He is greatly concerned by the existence of such a power, though wishes to consult the spirits before making any moves to respond."

"Good." Sylvanas replied. "Thrall is a noble and honorable man, if not entirely wise in his choice of successors. I would welcome his counsel and assistance now."

"You have not answered my own question, your majesty. What has happened?" Eitrigg asked again.

"Garrosh has possession of a part of the Golden Flame, the relic which brought about the rebirth. I am told by my source that it is enough to grant him almost limitless power. We both know what he has done, and what crimes he is capable of. What I want to know is does he have any understanding of the arcane arts? Can he wield magic of any kind?" Sylvanas asked him, her voice was even and controlled.

"I have never seen him do so." Eitrigg replied, considering the implications of this new information. "My experience with him has been a general distrust or dismissal of magic in favor of the blade of an axe and the strength of his own arm. If he has possession of a source of magic power, it will take him time to learn how to use it if he chooses to try, and he does not have the benefit of a mage's scholarship to do it."

"But once he does?" The queen asked.

"You would not be asking the question if you did not already know." Eitrigg replied.

"Thank you, Ambassador. You may return to what you were doing." Sylvanas said, turning around again to contemplate the vault.

"Since we were discussing trust, your majesty, may I ask if you trust me?" Eitrigg inquired, not yet moving to leave.

"I had hoped to." She replied.

"Then may I offer you this counsel?" He asked.

Sylvanas turned her head slightly in acknowledgment.

"Take what the humans call the 'high road.' There are many in Orgrimmar who do not share the warchief's views, and see him for the monster and fool that we do. More perhaps than those who are loyal to him. There are many who are still loyal to Thrall and see no benefit to more bloodshed. It would be to your advantage to not give them a reason to become loyal to Garrosh's cause. You would create enemies to this kingdom that would persist throughout whatever generations might survive, and we have both seen what devastation happens when my people truly go to war." Eitrigg advised her. He then told her, "If you intend to carry out your promise to Garrosh, make sure there are none of my people left alive."

"Yourself included, Eitrigg?" She asked.

"Myself included, your majesty. My honor would demand no less." The aged orc replied, and then he left her to her thoughts.

Arete had complied with his summons to the queen's personal chambers immediately. He could not help but do so, and was somewhat confused when he found them empty upon arrival, but stood as though on guard within them, and waited for her return.

The queen's chambers had previously belonged, not to the previous monarch, but some minister of state in the fallen kingdom whose name he did not recall. They were a two room apartment of sorts within easy walking distance of Lordaeron's throne room. One room was used for a personal living space, and the other a bedroom.

The elven queen had not had it decorated it much. This did not surprise him. She had been a general before she had been a queen, and her living preferences ran towards a martial efficiency and functionality. There was a wooden writing desk, a chair, some empty bookcases, and a few comfortable padded chairs around a table in the living area. Though, to be sure, there were few signs of anyone actually living in the apartment. His queen spent little actual time here except to sleep, and he did not venture into the bedroom to inspect its contents. That was her majesty's privilege alone.

He stood guard in her room for some time, and watched as the sunlight faded from the day into night through the open window. He took the liberty of lighting a few oil lamps for his queen when she should arrive.

After some time more, the door to her quarters finally opened, and the blue cloaked elven woman entered her chambers. She nodded to him, acknowledging his presence, and withdrawing her hood from her head before she closed the wooden door behind her.

"Your majesty, how may I serve you?" Arete asked her, noting her shoulder length, golden blond hair and flawless elven skin. It was a rare pleasure for him to observe her face without the cowl, and he saw no shame in the enjoyment of it as though one might enjoy a priceless work of art.

She turned to face him, and he noticed the streak of a tear which had crossed her face. Immediately, protective anger rose within him that someone could make her feel so, though he said nothing. The expression on her face seemed vulnerable and conflicted, things which he had rarely if ever seen in his queen.

"Your majesty, if it would be better that I return later..." He offered, not wishing for her to feel embarrassed.

"No, stay." She told him, though there was an unsure quality to her voice that he had never heard before.

"Of course, my queen. What may I do for you?" He responded, becoming truly concerned for her.

"Do you believe in redemption, Arete? Do you believe that sins may be forgiven and a person who has committed atrocities may become something entirely different, something that a divine Maker might accept?" She asked.

He had never heard her speak of such things before, though he had wondered at the answers to those questions himself. He looked into her beautiful blue elven eyes and saw a conflict of emotions raging behind them.

"My queen, I… I hope so. I tell myself such things are possible and hope they are true. I know I have much to answer for if they are not." He replied, feeling more vulnerable than he was comfortable with himself.

"And I as well." She confessed to him.

"Have you found anyone yet? Anyone with which to provide our kingdom with future warriors, scholars, and craftsmen." She asked, her eyes questioning and more hopeful than he understood the reason for.

"I have been wholly devoted to your service and the service of Lordaeron, my queen. I have not had the opportunity to, uh… meet someone." He responded, not certain as to where this line of conversation was going. He knew of several ladies within the city who had made comments or flirted with him, in fact, though he had not returned their glances. It was true, his service as the queen's military commander consumed his life, though he did not complain.

She then asked a question that he was truly not prepared for, and did not expect.

"Do you love me, Arete?" She asked hesitantly.

His response was immediate, though his expression confused. "I would die for you, my queen, a thousand times over. I am wholly devoted to your service."

"Do you find me attractive?" She asked again, apparently not satisfied with his answer.

This time his response was slower in coming as he tried to comprehend what was happening. His heart began to respond though, before his head did. "Your beauty is as radiant as the sun to me, my queen. I could bask in its rays forever."

A shy smile crept over the queen's face as she looked at him. "I want children, Arete. I want my family's bloodlines to continue. Do you want your noble family's name to live on?"

"I do want that as well, my queen." He replied, his voice becoming tender and gentle towards the woman who had become the most important thing in his life next to his honor. "I want to have a future in this world."

"Will you stand next to me, my knight? Will you lend your strength to me when mine fails? Will you walk this journey to find our hope of redemption together with me?" Her voice was hopeful and vulnerable, and her eyes began to mist over.

He looked deeply into her eyes, drinking in every feature of the face he had come to love dearly. He approached her himself timidly, and reached out gently with his hands to hold her in his arms. She did not back up, but accepted his embrace, welcoming it warmly.

"With my last dying breath, my queen." He told her, intoxicated by this extraordinary woman who had somehow seen fit to choose him.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The early morning sun broke radiantly over the rolling fields and farmlands of the Valley of the Four Winds. The golden light spread like a slow moving flood across the land illuminating crops, and previously sleeping farm animals and the vermin that the Pandaren farmers contested with daily.

Guozhi was there to meet it like an old friend.

The dawning of the sun signaled the beginning of a series of graceful, fluidic motions the Mistweaver monk practiced every morning near his garden in front of his small house. He would assume a stance, forgetting everything else around him but that stance and hold it for a count of several slow breaths. Then he would slowly shift into a punch, noting every movement necessary within his mind and body to make that punch happen. To an outside observer, it might have looked as though he were sparring with the air in slow motion as the punch slowly morphed into a defensive stance followed by a back kick. Balance was everything as most of the movements were performed on only one foot, and some of them, less than that. Soon, inexplicably, his staff, decorated with the sigils of his martial order, appeared in his hands and it became a mere extension of himself as it too twisted and jabbed in the slowest and most deliberate of motions which, if they had been at full speed, would have been lightning fast and devastating to another on the receiving end.

This was the scene Shaggara awoke to. Pandaria's time was not far different from Dalaran's as they occupied the same longitude of the world of Azeroth, though vastly different and opposing lattitudes. Her body had adjusted itself to waking at dawn in the mage's city, and it had resumed its internal clock in the rural Pandaren village.

She had woken finding herself with more of an ability to remain standing. She despised having to stay in the bed, and despised herself even more for being too weak at the moment to prevent Garrosh from wreaking even more havoc and bringing even more shame to her clan. She used what strength she had to stand on her own two feet again and survey her surroundings better.

She held no animosity towards her old friend. He was a kind and gentle soul and always had been. Gereth and she had first met Guozhi ten years before when they had journeyed to Pandaria on the trail of some other relic that Gereth had been interested in at the time. Something having to do with a former, though now very dead, Pandaren emperor. They never found the relic, but they did make a genuine friend in the black and white furred monk. Shaggara knew that Guozhi sincerely did have her best interests at heart.

But that knowledge did not make her feel any better about her situation. Garrosh had to be stopped and, at the moment, she was powerless to do anything about it.

Images from her battle with the demon possessed sorcerer Ganondorf flashed through her mind. He too had possession of a Triforce of Power. It had taken the combined efforts of a legion of death knights, several powerful warriors, two incarnate gods, and herself given extraordinary abilities by the guardian of the Emerald Dream, Ysera, and the unlimited power of a complete Triforce to stop him and seal him away in some other dimension before he destroyed every living thing on their world. Half of the death knights ceased to be. One of the human warriors with whom she had an unusual bond sacrificed himself so that she and Gereth might live. None of them walked away unchanged. It was a nightmare she did not want to relive again.

What fresh hell could that fool son of Grommash Hellscream unleash upon Azeroth?

She had made for the doorway of the Panderan's bamboo house. She had been told once that Pandarens ate bamboo as a part of their regular diet. The brief image of her friend gnawing on the side of his house flashed through her mind and she suppressed a laugh, irritated with herself that she could find humor in anything at that time.

Gereth had still not returned for her. That much was plain. Being a mage who had a particular gift for teleportation and the creation of portals, it would have been easy for him to maneuver between opposite sides of Azeroth several times during the day without being fatigued. But whatever business had taken him away from her at that time, and she was certain of the people with whom he needed to speak, had not allowed him to come back for her as of yet.

Gereth was a powerful magic user and could take care of himself. She was not worried for him. But she sorely felt his absence. It left a void when he was away, more so now than at any other point in her life.

 _Why am I being so sentimental? There is a task to be carried out. Gereth is doing his part and I must do mine._ She chided herself. _Though I must first find a way back to the rest of the world to do my part._

As she made her way past the door frame, partially supporting herself with her hands she came upon the scene of the Pandaren's deliberate, slow moving morning exercises and found herself mesmerized by the motions of combat performed as though an artistic dance. It seemed paradoxical to her that such a gentle healer like the furry pandaren could hold his own in a fight. Indeed, she had never seen him spar with anyone, though as one of pandaria's class of martial monks she knew he must have trained to do so.

A pandaren monk was not to be engaged in a fight lightly. She possessed memories of a foolish firsthand experience. She couldn't remember the monk even throwing a punch, but somehow she had ended up on the floor dazed and bruised in a tavern. The monk had later bought her a drink and swapped stories of adventures with her. They had parted, if not as friends exactly, then respecting each other as warriors.

Soon, her friend finished his exercises and spied her in the doorway watching him. He turned to face her, bowing his head slightly and placing the palms of his hands together.

"Honorable Shaggara, it pleases me that you are able to walk and enjoy this fine morning with me." Guozhi told her, smiling genuinely.

Not knowing exactly how to respond to his greeting, she returned the gesture, placing her own hands together. She then asked, "What were those exercises you were doing?"

"Ah! It is a meditation I was taught in my monastery far to the north in the mountains of Kun-Lai. I have practiced it since I was a child." He responded. "It allows one to maintain focus and balance."

He then surprised her when he motioned for her, waving his paw to come and join him. "Come, come! Join me!"

"I don't know those movements." She answered warily.

"The road to knowledge begins with only a single step." He replied patiently, smiling at her.

Shaggara then slowly made to join the humble monk on the packed dirt near his beloved garden. She noticed that she could still feel the life around her as she exited the house. It was not as strong as it was in the forest of Ashenvale, and it felt different. But as she walked across the dirt path next to the gardens it felt as if the herbs and roots that were green and growing within it were lending her their own strength and energy and her body absorbed it greedily, feeling stronger with every step.

She could sense the presence of the earthworms in the well tended soil, and the nearby rabbit like creatures called virmen in their own dens resting for the day until the farmers cleared from their fields in the evening. Except for the virmen perhaps, this life was not wild and untamed, but domesticated and cultivated. Instead of making her blood pump faster like the wilds near Forest Song had, it had a calming and soothing affect on her body and spirit. Images of a home and family ran through her mind, children playing at her feet, a peaceful existence free from the harms and cares of the world. It was intoxicating.

 _I am an orc_. She then told herself. _Peace does not come without sacrifice, not for my people._

She came to stand next to Guozhi and asked, "How do I begin?"

The orc grunt patrolled his assigned route through Grommash Hold, walking the halls and passageways. He wore the harness and shoulder plates favored by many of his people, and carried a two handed axe across his back. He might have been one among hundreds of similarly outfitted soldiers. No one questioned his presence there, and few stopped to speak with him. He was just a part of the background of the stronghold in Orgrimmar, and no one really took the time to see him.

This was exactly what Gereth wanted.

Glamor spells were not his forte, but he felt he had done rather well with this one. Of course, while he could mask how he was _seen_ by others around him, his personal human smell and voice were another matter entirely. Thus, being ignored had its advantages.

He could no longer safely walk the streets of the orc city freely, neither as a human or an undead for that matter. Had he been seen in his true form, he would have been slaughtered by the Kor'kron guard on sight. The glamor spell was the only way to not be noticed as he made his way into the Valley of Strength and into the Hold.

He had returned to Dalaran first after leaving Shaggara in the capable hands of the healer monk Guozhi. His first concern was to report the dire news to the Kirin Tor council's new head, Jaina Proudmoore, the former Lady of Theramore Isle. He could not risk informing the entire council of the true existence of the Golden Flame. They were made up of mages and magic users from around Azeroth who had their own designs and ambitions to power, and the relic itself would be too much of a temptation for them. But he had a responsibility to keep at least the new leader of the council apprised of the newly dangerous situation.

From Dalaran he had teleported to Lordaeron to inform the only other person who knew of the existence of the divine relic, and the significance of what it might mean in particular to her people. It had not been welcome news, but there was little he could do. They had discussed the possibility of warning the Alliance leadership as well. It was Gereth however who observed that by informing Jaina Proudmoore, the news would travel quickly to Varian Wrynn's ears. Regardless of the Lady Proudmoore's neutral office as head of the Kirin Tor, she was still tied too closely to Stormwind and its royal family to keep herself apart from the conflicts between the factions, and she had a personal vendetta against the Horde warchief for what he did to her island city.

Her majesty, Sylvanas Windrunner, had been very quiet after that meeting with him. She had thanked him for his information and warning, and then departed for the catacombs of the Undercity. She did not invite him to attend her there. Gereth had been concerned at her response. He had a good idea of what kinds of things were still kept in the crypts under the city's ruins.

Left to his own devices by both leaders, he sought to see for himself what effect the Triforce of Power was having on the warchief. Though as he stalked the floors of the Hold, he had seen little of the younger orc in the last several days. Garrosh Hellscream, usually to be found in the throne room, was strangely absent from his regular routine.

This was his second foray into Grommash Hold as a faux orc in the last two days after leaving Lordaeron. He had returned to his former rooms in a structure in the drag which he had maintained in the past to find them still empty. Either the owner had kept them for him, expecting him to return at some point, or else the owner was no longer present to rent them to anyone else. He didn't know which was the case, either could be possible in Garrosh's Orgrimmar, but they had provided him with a ready made base from which to carry out his espionage and reconnaissance.

As he passed by several smaller chambers on the second floor of the structure that morning, he heard the warchief's voice coming from one of them, along with the weary voice of another orc, a colleague of sorts, which he recognized.

He took up a standing position near the closed door of the chamber as though he had been assigned to stand guard. And then he waited and listened.

"...yes, warchief, yes. You have made such great progress in the last two days. I have never seen anyone manipulate the mana energies so naturally as you appear to be able to." He heard the voice of the mage instructor Marud say.

 _Garrosh can use magic?_ Gereth was disturbed immensely by this news.

"But it's not enough yet, mage. I have seen magic users call down fire from the skies and rain destruction down on whole armies. Show me how this is done." Garrosh's voice demanded.

"Warchief, that is very advanced magic, and neither you nor I have slept in two days. It would do both of us much good if..." Marud protested.

"You will rest when I say you can rest, mage." Garrosh cut him off. "Now show me what I want to know!"

"Mages practice their art for years before they can achieve the level of ability I have seen you gain in a matter of days. Surely a few hours of sleep will not..." Marud attempted again, and Gereth could hear the exhaustion in the orc's voice.

"I intend to send a message to the Alliance in a matter of days, mage. I want to make sure that message is clear and decisive." Garrosh replied. "Now teach me!"

"Yes, warchief." Marud replied, and then Gereth heard him explain the basics of the spells Garrosh had described.

 _This is ill news indeed._ Gereth thought to himself as he discreetly moved on from his position. _What message does the warchief intend to send and how?_

He moved through the Hold into another chamber that appeared deserted. Closing the door, he began the incantation for teleportation. He would not go far, only back to his rooms in Orgrimmar where he himself could rest and think through what his own next move might be.

Eitrigg sat at the writing desk in his apartment that morning. It was clear that the carpenter who built the wooden desk and chair had a much smaller human frame in mind when he did so. It felt to the aged warrior as though it had been made for a child, and not a full grown orc warrior such as himself. Of course, an orc child reached the size of an average human adult at the tender age of six years.

A sheet of parchment lay in front of him on the desk. It still remained blank, as the pen Eitrigg held in his hand had yet to be dipped in the bottle of ink and pressed to its off white surface.

The aged orc had spent a sleepless night contemplating what his own next action might be. His first thought had been to return to Orgrimmar and kill the warchief himself. It was a good orc solution to the problem, but he immediately and continuously ran into the logistical realities of Garrosh's youth and new found power through this damned relic which had turned their world upside down. Eitrigg himself would die and his sacrifice would accomplish nothing.

Another option that had occurred to him was to kill the elven queen and keep her from carrying out her threat to release the deadly plague weapons on the orc city. This too presented a similar set of difficulties, and he concluded would only put the decision on using them into the hands of another. Furthermore, she had approached him with her trust and kept nothing from him. It was not honorable for him to repay that trust with her death. Eitrigg had little left that he valued in this world more highly than his honor. Beyond this, the world may need the queen's resources to stand against the fool warrior's plans, whatever they may be. As the nations of Azeroth had united against the Lich King before, so too might they need to unite against a potentially greater threat, if his understanding of these things was accurate.

That left few options open to Eitrigg. His final conclusion had been to send another letter to the young shaman warrior who had earned his respect, Thrall, and impress upon him the need for him to return to lead his people and put down the warrior he had chosen to act in his stead. He would have to tell him of the potential response Sylvanas was considering. From their conversation, it appeared to the old orc that was exactly what the elf queen wanted him to do.

But for whatever reason, he couldn't seem to put pen to parchment. What did he say?

"Dear Thrall, please come back and lead us before Garrosh and Sylvanas plunge the whole world into hell." He said to himself wearily. "As if they haven't already tried."

 _Knock! Knock!_ Eitrigg heard a firm rapping on his door.

"Enter!" He called out, not bothering to get up. Human courtesies seemed to be a non-existent issue for him at the moment.

The door opened, and the cloaked form of the elf queen entered his rooms alone. She took the time to close the door behind her. He turned from where he sat, the wooden chair creaking somewhat under the weight of his muscular bulk, and looked at her.

"You look well, this morning. Better than you did last night, at any rate." Eitrigg told her.

She nodded, taking it as a complement. "I wanted to tell you," she began, "I've chosen to destroy the last of our plague weapons. They will no longer be a threat to anyone ever again."

Eitrigg's eyebrows went up in surprise and he stood up from the chair, crossing the room to stand in front of her. "That is good news for my people." He replied.

"I thought much about your counsel last night, Ambassador. Garrosh Hellscream only proves himself the fool to squander Thrall's precious gift of your hard won wisdom. I do not intend to follow suit. I choose the high road this time, Eitrigg. I do not want the blood of any more innocents on my hands again." She told him.

Eitrigg nodded, his respect for the queen increasing exponentially. "Who knows of this decision?"

"Myself, Lord Commander Arete, and his death knights who carried out my orders." She responded.

Eitrigg considered this and then said, "Then may I offer another piece of counsel, your majesty?"

"Of course, Ambassador." She replied.

"Tell no one else of your decision. Keep it between yourself and as few people as possible. The threat of those weapons is all that now stands between this kingdom and immediate invasion from both the Horde and the Alliance. Let the warchief believe this is still a possible response to an attack and he will not risk one until he is certain it will not matter. This will give us all more time, I believe, to solve our immediate problem." Eitrigg told her.

"You suggest that I bluff? Like in that card game goblins are so fond of?" She asked.

"I have seen many goblins lose much to an opponent with lesser cards due to a convincing bluff." He replied. "In the end, it doesn't matter what hand you have as much as what hand your opponent believes you have, as I understand the game."

Sylvanas smiled.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11 – One Week Later

Shaggara dodged to the right as the lightning fast furry palm shot towards her head. The next blow came from below as her left arm came down to block the kick. Both moves happened within a fraction of a second. When that second was over, she had been forced to avoid or block at least half a dozen such attacks from the black and white Pandaren who sparred with her.

Even with her own speed still enhanced by the piece of the Golden Flame she carried, she could only just keep up with his attacks, her arms and legs moving on their own, reacting faster than she could think. But every time she noticed an opening to press her own attack, another of his came from an unexpected direction. She had no time to analyze or plan a strategy. It was like fighting a whirlwind.

"Your body already knows what to do. Your muscles already remember the movements whether you know it or not. Empty your mind, and your muscles will do the rest." He told her without breaking off.

It was late morning, and they had both already gone through the series of slow moving, deliberate martial stretches and movements which had been Guozhi's regular practice. In addition to those exercises, the Pandaren had agreed to spar with her on one condition, that no weapons were to be used in the sparring.

"A weapon is merely a tool, an extension of your own arm and hand. If you cannot fight with your hand empty, why should it make any difference if your hand is full?" The monk had told her when she asked why.

The first day of such sparring, Shaggara had landed on the packed dirt near Guozhi's garden several times. She had been the aggressor in those matches. No matter what she tried to do, he would somehow always catch her off balance by an elbow, a wrist, or an ankle, or by just stepping out of the way. Her own weight and momentum became her downfall.

As he explained it to her, "Your opponent does not need to strike when you yourself are out of balance. When one's heart and mind are not in harmony, they are their own worst enemy. All that is needed is to step out of the way and allow them to defeat themselves."

"You move too fast!" She had protested at that time, her own battle reflexes quick and agile. "How do you move so fast?!"

He had then stopped the contest and extended a hand to help her off the ground from where she had landed. Giving her time to compose herself, he then picked up a large stone with both hands from a pile on the side of his garden and handed it to her. The stone had weight to it, but it was not difficult to hold in her hands.

"Could you run with this stone to the next village?" He had asked her.

"Yes, of course." Shaggara responded. Her strength had returned, and the burden wasn't heavy.

The Pandaren then went and retrieved another stone, and then went back for another still, placing both of them in Shaggara's arms. He was not done until she was visibly struggling under the weight of no less than five such stones and was in danger of dropping them.

"Could you run there now?" He asked innocently.

"No." She said almost grunting. "It's too heavy. I'm carrying too much weight."

"Exactly. The more weight you carry, the slower you become. If you carry but a single stone, the journey is easy. If you carry many, the journey is very difficult. If you carry no stones at all, you may fly as fast you are capable." The Pandaren told her, tapping the side of his head.

Shaggara's expression had become confused at that point.

He then asked, as he helped return the stones to their pile, "What burdens do you make your mind and heart carry, honorable Shaggara? What stones do you bring with you?"

That conversation had been six days before. Since then he had demonstrated how to use the natural movements and reflexes that her body had already learned in a different way. Sword thrusts and axe slices became unarmed blocks and jabs. Even the movement of withdrawing her sword from its scabbard was used in an unexpected way to block an attack.

He explained to her that the Pandaren martial art was more of a philosophy about how one saw and interacted with the world. It wasn't about the movements or specific punches, blocks, or kicks, as it was repurposing the movements you made every day in mundane or ordinary tasks. Every motion became a tool in one's inventory to draw from. It was a matter of freeing up the confines one's mind had placed on them in order that they might be made use of. She had taken his teachings to heart, but still found herself barely able to keep up with the overly large Pandaren who still seemed to be able to move faster than the eye could see.

Guozhi did not relent in his attacks. He continued to throw punches, thrust with his palm, and twist his body in such ways that his feet and legs became projectile weapons that she only narrowly ducked and avoided.

As he did so he continually called out, "What are you thinking?!"

But she had no time to answer. He had pushed her so hard and so fast that she hadn't time to think and her mind was a void, her every ounce of concentration focused on his hands and feet and her reactions to them.

Then a smile crept across Guozhi's face as he read her focused, mindless expression.

"Hold!" He called out, and they both froze.

Shaggara fought every instinct within her, using every ounce of the warrior's discipline she had to keep from pressing an attack. The blood raged within her, demanding that she continue the fight, but she didn't. She stood in the exact position she had been in, her lips held back in a snarl, her eyes narrowed at him. A growl escaped her throat as she obeyed.

"Good! Honorable Shaggara! Very, very good!" He told her. "What were you thinking about just now?"

"Ugh!" She snarled. "I wasn't thinking anything! You didn't give me time to do anything but focus on your attacks and..."

"Precisely!" He smiled even more. "You were mindless! It was wonderful! You were focused on only what was happening in this moment!"

The fire faded behind her eyes as she considered what he said.

"I don't understand." She finally replied. "The mind is a warrior's greatest weapon. How can being mindless be an asset in a fight?"

"Ah, but does the warrior hold the weapon, or does the weapon hold the warrior? You were not thinking of your past, nor what might happen in the future, honorable Shaggara. The only moment which mattered was the one you found yourself in. You dropped your stones and journeyed with your hands empty, even if only for a brief time. This is the true way of ways." Guozhi replied.

The rest of the battle raged drained away from her, little by little as she considered his statement. And then, almost as quickly as the moment passed, her mind began to fill with thoughts. Mostly concerning her mate.

It had been more than a week, almost two since he had left her in Guozhi's care. He hadn't returned since that point in time. Not once. Gereth could take care of himself, she was certain that even if he were in danger he would find a way out of it. But why hadn't he returned to at least tell her what was happening? Why wasn't she there with him to deal with Garrosh and the stolen Triforce of Power?

"My stomach tells me it is time to eat." Guozhi said, bringing her back to the moment.

"What? Yes. Yes it is." She agreed, shoving thoughts of Gereth to the side for the moment.

The truth was, she felt like she was starving after the workout he had put her through. No, she was more than starving. She was ravenous. The monk did not eat a morning meal other than a hot cup of ginseng tea, and as a result, neither did she. He otherwise prepared two meals during the day, the late morning meal and one before the sun went down, though this latter one consisted mostly of whatever had not been eaten earlier along with some fruit.

She had no idea how the Pandaren could be the size he was eating as little as he seemed to.

They both turned towards his small house where the smells of rice, meat, vegetables and spices which had been simmering over a cooking fire was wafting through the air and out the doorway. It made Shaggara's mouth water as it hit her nose far too readily.

They entered the house and Shaggara went to sit down at the table while Guozhi went to the pot hanging over the low burning fire in his fireplace. Taking a pair of mittens made for his large Pandaren paws, he took the handle of the pot from its hook and rested it on a thick bamboo weave mat in the center of the table.

The simple rice dish, along with noodles, vegetables from the monk's garden, and whatever meat he could come by from his village's marketplace was Guozhi's main staple. And while Shaggara found it both savory and satisfying, Guozhi had at first apologized to her for serving such "humble" food to an honored guest. The orc warrior woman wondered what he would think of the less "prepared" orcish fare her foster sister Gryshka served her patrons in Orgrimmar.

Guozhi gestured to Shaggara to take her own food first. "Please, eat!" He encouraged. "You must be very hungry!"

The orc took her bowl and a wooden spoon and scooped out some of the food into her bowl. Soon, a small mountain of the pot's contents sat in front of her and she began eating rapidly with a crudely cut bamboo spoon, while the Pandaren filled his own bowl slowly and meditatively. He seemed to be concentrating on each inhalation through his nose as he scooped the rice, vegetables, and meat deliberately into his bowl, and then slowly set it down in front of himself. With concentration and grace, he picked up his bamboo spoon and slowly filled it and placed it in his mouth.

Shaggara's own appetite refused to be placed under such constraints. By the time the Pandaren had taken his second bite, the orc woman was scooping more food into her own empty bowl. But Guozhi paid no attention to the eating habits of his guest. His only focus appeared to be his own steaming bowl in front of him.

When she finished her second, heaping bowl her eyes became somewhat distant as her own thoughts and worries filled her mind. The Pandaren monk, still in the process of finishing his own food, took note.

"Where are you now, honorable Shaggara?" He asked, smiling.

Her eyes came back into focus and she looked at her friend. "Gereth has still not returned. Something is wrong. I can feel it. Somehow I know, something is wrong. I need to do something. I need to find him."

Guozhi set his spoon down and focused all of his attention on her.

"I'm strong enough now. I'll find a flightmaster here somewhere. I'll make the trip to the Shrine of Two Moons on foot if I have to. But I know my mate. He should have come back for me by now. The threat is too dangerous for him to face alone." She told him, her frustration coming to the surface.

"Perhaps he is concerned that the threat is too dangerous for the two of you right now to join him, honorable Shaggara." Guozhi told her.

Shaggara looked at him in confusion. "What do you mean, the two of me?"

"You and the child which you carry." The monk replied, his smile fading as his expression became very serious.

"The child which I..." She stopped as she looked at her empty food bowl again. She never ate as ravenously as she was now. "How do you know that and I don't?" She demanded.

"Forgive me, honorable Shaggara. It is my experience that some women are unable to discern the movements of their own body, especially when their minds are full of other things. I could tell when I cared for you in untangling your chi. I could not understand why it seemed so contorted and tangled at first until I realized that there were two lives intertwined within you, and both had been very hurt by the energies used against you." He told her. "I told honorable Gereth of the second life. He was very concerned that you and your child recover and not be put into more danger."

Shaggara reeled from this new information as a mix of emotions ran through her heart and mind. _I am with child!_ The thought careened through her soul, and various expressions of joy and fear were displayed across her orcish face. And then the thought of what had happened to her and the pain she had gone through, and put her unborn child through...

"Does the child live? Will it be deformed from the magic used on me?" She wanted to know.

"The child lives." Guozhi reassured her. "As to the rest, it is too soon to tell but your child's chi is strong like yours."

"Why didn't you tell me?" She asked him, angry that he had hidden it from her.

"Among my people, it is not proper for a man who is not her husband to discuss such things with a woman." He told her. "I did not wish to make you uncomfortable, and I believed that your body would tell you in its own time."

 _A child_. She thought, trying to wrap her mind around it. She had been past the aged of child bearing before the rebirth. It honestly hadn't occurred to her that she could bear one. _A human-orc child_. She then realized. It was the product of both herself and her human mate. It would be a half-orc, half-human and would be accepted in neither world for it, much like their joining. But it would be _her_ child… _their_ child.

"I must go." She then decided standing up, her eyes certain and resolute.

"In your condition?" Guozhi asked.

"I'm pregnant, not injured." She retorted. "Among orcs, pregnancy means you protect your belly more in a fight. It does not keep you from doing what must be done."

Guozhi nodded at this respectfully, though his furred features appeared somewhat uncomfortable at the thought, and not a little disturbed. But her people's ways were different from his own, and it was not his place to judge them.

"Then I will accompany you, honorable Shaggara." The monk then told her, rising himself. "The way to your people's embassy in the Vale of Eternal Blossoms is long. It will take many weeks to travel on foot. But I know of one who may help us reach it sooner."

"You will help me?" She asked.

"You are my friend, and so is honorable Gereth. I would see you both together and at peace." He replied.

 _The conscription orders went out a week ago, and this is all we are able to muster from four provinces?_ Varian Wrynn's thoughts were less than hopeful as he watched the handfuls of new recruits train in Stormwind's main barracks. _This isn't nearly enough men for what needs to be done, and none of them appear to be experienced fighters much less soldiers._

The king of Stormwind stood in the middle training yard of the barracks near Stormwind Keep. It was a large structure which had been built into the white stone walls of the city. He had wanted to get a feel for a time table on when he might be able to march on Orgrimmar and end the new threat posed by that arrogant, war mongering orc whom they now called "warchief."

But from what he observed, it would not be any time soon.

It was the same story in the Westguard Barracks further south and west in Elwyn Forest. The numbers he was given were abysmal. They would need ten times that many at least to lay siege to Orgrimmar, and most of the men and women he saw training with swords and pikes had been homeless and hungry the week before. They were grateful for the food and the beds, and willing to fight to keep them, but none appeared to even know how to hold a sword much less kill with one.

Moira Thaurissan in Ironforge had reported similar shortages in manpower and quality. He had yet to hear from Darnassus or their Draenei allies in the Azuremyst Isles. Both of them were noble peoples, but both also had their own problems to deal with in their own lands. He knew he could expect only a token force at best.

They had all just been spread too damned thin to begin with, having to station men on four continents and two worlds to guard Alliance interests and fight war after war for the last several decades. Then the thrice damned Deathwing began tearing up this world which caused them to lose even more manpower. And then that damned blight happened and a good quarter or more of the Alliance's existing fighting strength were wiped out almost overnight. Soon, very soon, the Alliance might fall from simple lack of anyone left to defend it.

The king of Stormwind's only consolation to that was that the Horde had suffered similar losses, and from what he had been told by his spies in Lordaeron, they had been rebuffed by the newly "reborn" queen in the north as well who was now refusing to cooperate with them militarily. It had only been a little under two weeks, but so far Sylvanas had made good on her word. She would leave the south alone as long as she saw Stormwind and Ironforge were leaving her alone. The elven queen still had much to answer for in Varian Wrynn's mind, but sometimes justice had to make way for pragmatics.

And if the new recruits in front of him were any indication, the Alliance was in no position to bring justice to her doorstep any time soon. Perhaps that was best left to whatever gods may exist. From Jaina's description of their new threat, he had more than his share of trouble to worry about. There were days, many days, when being a slave and fighting in a pit seemed so much simpler than having to be a king.

"Your majesty!" A voice shouted from off to his right.

Varian turned his head to see where it was coming from. A helmeted soldier outfitted in Stormwind's armor and livery was approaching him.

"What is it?" He asked, his voice less than enthused at more news.

"Message for you, your majesty. It was just delivered less than an hour ago." The soldier told him, saluting and then handing him a rolled up parchment sealed with wax.

Varian took the parchment and inspected the seal. He did not recognize it.

"Who delivered this message?" He asked, somewhat suspicious.

"A courier who came down from Menethil Harbor in the Wetlands this morning, your majesty." The soldier replied.

Varian considered this and then broke the seal and unrolled the scroll, examining its contents. He read it through several times to make sure he understood the clear, deliberate script written in fluent common. The expression on his face became very, very serious as he weighed the implications of the message, and the possible motivations of the sender.

 _It has been a long time, hasn't it?_ He thought. _I hope it's not too late to correct the mistakes we both made._

"I want a mage in and my bodyguards armed and ready to travel by portal in my council chambers in one hour. I will inform the mage of where to direct the portal when we are ready." He told the messenger. "There's an old acquaintance who wishes to speak with me."

"Of course, your majesty." The soldier replied crisply. He then moved quickly to carry out his king's commands.

 _At least this is one with whom I can deal_.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The unextraordinary orc guard stood quietly outside of the warchief's council chambers looking as menacing as he could manage, but otherwise did nothing to distinguish himself from any other guard. He was a part of the background, and he played that part the best he could. It was in the afternoon in Orgrimmar and he had been on duty, patrolling Grommash Hold all day. But he couldn't rest, not yet. Not with all the raised, arguing voices he needed to hear coming from inside.

"It's not a matter of cowardice, mon!" Came the troll's frustrated voice. "Da Horde just don't got the strength in numbers for dat kind of assault, not afta da blight in Northrend, 'n 'specially not afta losing so many men at Theramore. I got plenty reason to hate da humans same as you, but now is not da time, mon!"

Then the guard heard a loud crack echo through the door and into the hallway. It was followed by the sound of a body scraping against a wall before hitting the ground. A pained groan just barely came through the door. Apparently, the warchief was not pleased with such wise council.

"That may have mattered in the past, Vol'jin, but things have changed since then." Garrosh's deep, gravelly voice resounded through the door.

As he spoke, the guard's right hand began to itch fiercely and a golden triangular mark began to appear which he did his best to cover with little success. The pieces of the Golden Flame were calling to each other.

"Have you considered how we are going to get our forces into Elwynn Forest? None of our mages are capable of opening portals into Alliance territory." Came another voice, that of a tauren chieftain. "It's been one of Dalaran's measures at ensuring neutrality."

"Leave that to me." Garrosh told him. "This isn't a debate. The both of you have your troops ready to fight by dawn tomorrow morning. I am going to strike a blow against the Alliance from which they will never recover and begin the extermination of the human infestation of this world, starting with Stormwind."

Then, much like the guard had heard in other such meetings over the past week, he heard the two dissenting voices respond as though in a daze, "Yes, warchief."

Having heard enough, and sensing that the meeting was about to end, the faux orc guard discreetly moved on down the passage to an unused storeroom not far from where he had presumably been standing watch. It was a storeroom he had come to visit frequently in the past few days as a convenient departure point.

There were many things which concerned him greatly. The first, of course, was the seemingly foolhardy attempt at an attack on Stormwind. He had heard snatches of conversations and plans over the past week, and so far, none of it had made any sense. All things being equal, even with Garrosh's new found magical talents, there was still no way for it to even be plausible.

But the guard knew that all things were not equal. He had a better idea than anyone in his world, except perhaps his wife, of what the nearly limitless energies of Garrosh's piece of the Golden Flame could accomplish. Even with the elementary spells Marud had taught the warchief, drawing energy from the Triforce of Power, Garrosh could unleash devastation like this world had rarely seen before. The only limitations on him at this point were his lack of knowledge and imagination, and whatever shred of honor that hadn't been twisted.

Several times he had considered dueling the warchief himself, but he knew at this point he would lose and then Garrosh would most likely recover the triforce he held as well. If there had been a time where that would have worked, it was past. The piece of the relic which had chosen him as its bearer did not operate with the same virtue as Garrosh's.

The other observation which disturbed him greatly was the way the tauren and troll chieftains had so quickly and easily fallen into line after vehemently arguing with him. Vol'jin was known to be a good and noble leader of his people, and Baine Bloodhoof was much like his father Cairne had been, wise, honorable, and spiritual. They had both been disgusted at Garrosh's recent actions and there had been some rumor of secret meetings being held between them, away from Garrosh's ears.

But they were not the only ones who now acquiesced easily to the warchief. There now seemed to be an aura of dominance surrounding Garrosh, where all who came near him just irrationally submitted to his will. Vol'jin's and Baine's arguments were the most criticism he had heard from anyone, and even then, at the end, they could not resist his command.

He suspected that it too was an effect of that piece of the Golden Flame feeding off of Garrosh's belief in his own power as warchief and then being projected outwards. It meant that anyone who came close to the warchief, with the apparent exception of himself, became a de facto puppet to the orc warrior.

There were times he wished his friends from Hyrule were there for him to question.

After closing the door and enclosing himself within the darkness, he began an incantation for teleportation, channeling the raw mana energies through himself, focusing intently on the exact place where he wanted to be. Soon the blue charges of energy surrounded his body and he disappeared from the storage room in a blue flash.

Within seconds, the scene around him changed as his body felt twisted inside and out until the world righted itself. He then found himself in large circular chamber lit by torches. The large skylight overhead was dark. Underneath him, a mosaic of the seal of the former Kingdom of Lordaeron decorated the marble and gold floor.

"Intruder!" Someone yelled as the faux orc's disorientation began to fade.

"Hold, brothers!" The orc returned, raising his hands. Then, when he looked at them he realized what they must be seeing and he then dropped the glamor spell. "I am reborn! Just as you are! I have important information for her majesty the queen!"

Instantly, the large, greenish brown orc guard became a blond haired human mage wearing crimson robes with the insignia of the Kirin Tor. His gnarled wooden staff appeared in a flash in his hand.

"Tell her majesty, the mage Gereth needs to speak with her right away! It is a matter which concerns all of Azeroth!" Gereth told them.

The soldiers in the deathguard armor did not move but kept their weapons, swords and pikes, pointed in his direction threateningly.

 _Have they really no idea what I could do to all of them in an instant at this range?_ He wondered, astounded at their ignorance of the destruction a mage's spells could wreak in combat.

"Keep your weapons on me if you must, brothers, but send someone to inform her majesty I am here! Please!" Gereth told them again.

Finally, one of the guards apparently had more sense than the others and made as if he were going to inform someone more important than himself of the new arrival. Gereth stood there calmly, one hand on his staff and the other down at his side while his welcoming committee continued to hold their weapons out at him as though they might actually be able to do something.

Within minutes, from behind him Gereth heard a familiar male voice commanding the guards, "Stand down! This man is one of us!"

Hesitantly, the guards obeyed and returned their weapons to their previous, unused positions. The guards themselves returned to standing in place around the queen's throne room.

Gereth turned around to see Lord Commander Arete, a serious expression on his raven bearded face. "Lord Commander, I need to speak with her majesty at once. It is urgent."

"I would assume as much given your less than discreet entrance this close to midnight. Please, come with me my friend." Arete replied, gesturing for the mage to follow him. "Her majesty is in her personal apartment, but she will want to hear what you have to say I am certain."

"It was the afternoon for me a few minutes ago." Gereth told him dryly. "I'll try to remember the eleven hour time difference between Orgrimmar and Lordaeron better next time."

Arete turned to look at him as they walked the stone corridors towards the royal apartment, his eyebrows raised at the mage's irritated tone of voice. For several seconds the only sounds were their booted footfalls on the polished stone floor.

"Sorry." Gereth apologized. "I haven't had much sleep in the past week."

The death knight nodded with some understanding. "Perhaps a little more restraint might be in order when you speak to my Lady. She retired to her own bed earlier in the evening. I would not disturb her at all tonight for anyone except for you, my friend."

Gereth, in spite of his exhausted state, caught a distinct change in stress on the words "my" and "her own" when Arete referred to their queen and her activities that evening. He noted it for future reference.

"Thank you, brother." Gereth told him, feeling some of the former familial bonding which his people had shared in undeath. In some ways, the feeling was akin to coming home to the town you were raised in.

"How is your wife?" Arete then asked.

"Safe, the last time I saw her." Gereth replied. "She is staying with a friend of ours in Pandaria for the moment. I hope to keep her that way until this is resolved." He did not go into more detail than that.

"Your orc woman was not one which needed to be kept safe as I remember." Arete observed, remembering the fantastic but true story he had been told by them. "I remember thinking I would be be in dire straits should I incur her wrath."

"Things have changed." Gereth told him. "There are other considerations now."

 _Another life to consider besides our own._ Gereth thought to himself. _And with her hidden, Garrosh cannot complete the Golden Flame even if he does learn of the existence of the other two pieces and manages to extract mine._

Sensing that he did not want to speak further of it, Arete dropped the subject for the moment, and Gereth was glad when they approached the wooden door to the queen's apartment. Two guards in death knight armor stood at attention on opposite sides of the door.

"Stand down." Arete commanded, and the guards ignored them as their commander knocked at the door several times.

"Your majesty, it is Arete. The mage Gereth is here with urgent news." He said loudly without yelling through the door.

"Enter!" Came the queen's feminine yet commanding voice through the door.

Arete opened the door and the two men walked in, leaving the two death knights at the door. Gereth was the last to enter and he closed the door behind them.

Her majesty stood in the middle of the room intended as a parlor or living space. For a minute, Gereth was caught off guard by the appearance of his queen. He was not used to seeing her out of her seemingly traditional ranger general's uniform armor and cloak. In her own quarters, her head was bare and her golden blond hair flowed freely around her sharp elven ears and spilled across her shoulders. She wore a crimson and gold silken robe cut and trimmed in a fashion common among the Sindorei of Silvermoon. Oddly enough, it covered more of her female form than her armor did. Gereth wondered briefly if Keelen Sheets had made it for her personally. Her hands and feet were otherwise bare. She appeared… normal, if that was a word which could describe such a woman as she was.

"Yes?" She asked, her voice tired but not irritated. "You had news, Gereth?"

Her familiar demeanor and use of his first name was not lost on the mage.

"Your majesty, Garrosh intends to launch an attack on Stormwind tomorrow after dawn. He has ordered the remaining combined troops of the Horde to be made ready by then." Gereth told her outright.

The news appeared to take several seconds to register on the elf woman's face. When it did, she appeared skeptical. "That makes no sense. Without our forces, Garrosh has no hope of even getting to Elwynn forest, much less attacking it. What is your source on this?" She asked. "He has the same problem Varian does of laying siege to Orgrimmar."

"I've been a kind of 'ghost' around Grommash Hold over the last week. I heard it from the warchief myself. I believe the piece of the Golden Flame he possesses has given him an unusual power of command over those around him." Gereth explained.

"But still, even if he has every warrior in Orgrimmar scraping and bowing to his every whim, there still aren't enough troops for that kind of assault." She reasoned. "Not unless he has some other advantage we don't know about. And as far as we know, he cannot use magic so..."

"You don't know then." Gereth interrupted her.

She stopped. "I don't know what?" She said tensely.

"Garrosh has worked Orgrimmar's remaining magic instructor to near death by exhaustion in teaching him how to use magic. He is still only able to use elementary spells involving fire, arcane explosions and teleportation that I have heard and observed, but with the access to magical energies that he has through the Triforce of Power, I fear that those alone may be all he needs."

The color almost visibly drained from the queen's face. "And now we have no way to stop him." She said in a low voice. Then her face took on a dark expression, very different from when they had entered. "I am such a fool." She then berated herself.

"I don't understand." Gereth said.

"Upon the orc ambassador's counsel, I chose to take the 'high road' and destroy our remaining stockpile of plague canisters. Now we have nothing to use against him." She replied, gesturing angrily as she did so.

When what she had said registered, he then shook his head, "Your majesty, they would have made no difference. From what Shaggara and I were told, in Zelda's world nothing could stop the sorcerer who held that Triforce except for the bearers of the other two pieces working together no matter what was thrown at him. Our plague weapons would have killed off thousands of innocent orcs and left Garrosh alive with even more reason to turn his new power against Lordaeron. Their use would have only made this worse for our people faster. Right now, his sights are set on the Alliance. If he follows the pattern I believe he will. He will save our people for last."

"And how does that help us?" She asked him, expecting an answer.

"Shaggara and I hold the remaining two pieces, and I have good reason to believe he knows nothing about them. Shaggara is safely hidden in a place he does not know, so he has no access to her piece at any rate. He cannot just wish for something and make it happen as it occurred at our rebirth. The spells he now knows are still rudimentary and he seems to believe they are enough for his purposes." He explained.

"I'm still waiting for how this helps us, mage." She told him.

"Garrosh used his own mages and sorcerers to extract the Golden Flame from my wife's body. His distraction with the Alliance gives us time to find a way to do the same to him. I couldn't risk doing so on my own, else I might just be handing him the Triforce of Wisdom, but with the help of our other magic users we may be able to detain him just as he did with Shaggara and pry it from him. We know he will attempt to be in Elwynn forest after dawn in Orgrimmar, so in the late afternoon or early evening. Surely we can..." Gereth attempted to continue.

Sylvanas cut him off with her raised hand. "I see your reasoning, Gereth." Her tone had become calmer and more calculating, and he believed he could see the machinations going on behind her eyes. "But that means we need mages in place in Elwynn tomorrow evening, and we have the same restrictions still placed on our mages that Orgrimmar has on theirs. We can't teleport there any more than he should be able to."

It was then that Arete interjected, "Forgive me your majesty, what about our own flying mounts, the gryphons, bats, and dragonhawks? Surely we could make it to the southern kingdom in…"

"If Gereth is correct in his timetable, we have roughly fifteen hours to be in place. It takes almost twenty four to fly from here to Stormwind by gryphon back if I remember correctly and it requires changing mounts. Your knights' gryphons are no longer undead, my love. They require rest just as we do." She told the death knight.

 _My love?_ Gereth wondered, but wisely said nothing.

He then had an idea.

"What about teleporting the gryphons and mages as close to Stormwind as we can and then flying in?" Gereth asked. "How close could we get before we had to fly?"

Sylvanas considered this. She then responded, "Stranglethorn Vale, south of Duskwood. It is still considered 'contested territory'. But we have no access to any safe havens there without the Horde encampment." She paused and then continued, "except for that old hunter's camp close to the border with Duskwood. Our intelligence says that it's run now mostly by goblins and dwarves who don't care about politics."

"Can our mounts make it to Stormwind from there in time?" Gereth asked. He knew of the camp she spoke of, having visited it himself in the past. Nesingwary, the dwarf hunter who had established the not so temporary settlement, was somewhere between a legend and a myth among game hunters and a bane of druids who detested taking animals for sport. He thought the distance still might be pushing it for a single gryphon.

Sylvanas' strategic mind was already working. "Dragonhawks can cover that distance easily, but they would be noticed immediately by Stormwind's patrols."

Gereth then snapped his fingers, and immediately in place of the handsome young mage the orc guard returned saying, "Not necessarily, your majesty. In fact, we can hide them in plain sight."

Sylvanas smiled and nodded her understanding.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The village of Halfhill was built up the step-like plateaus of a solitary rocky hill in the eastern half of the Valley of the Four Winds. Large and small structures of bamboo and wood dotted the plateaus as the dirt path of the village wound it's way to the peak of the hill. At the village's base, near the road which circled around the large village, lay the Halfhill marketplace, the largest market in the province. As a whole, the village served as a kind of regional capital for trade and imperial business, though from the furry Pandaren farmers and tillers who lived in and around the farming community one might never know.

Shaggara and Guozhi had been traveling at a good pace on foot since not long after their late morning meal. The late summer weather in the southern continent had been kind to them, being neither too warm nor too cold to travel. Behind them in the west, the sun began to dip down behind the horizon, painting the sky and the verdant rolling landscape of well tilled fields a golden, otherworldly color as it did so.

Shaggara walked wearing her armor covered over by a violet and lavender cloak made in the Pandaren fashion which the monk had procured for her. The hilt of the Sword of Mastery protruded from the neck of the cloak and was pressed uncomfortably against her head by the cowl which covered it. While it was not uncommon for foreign adventurers to make their way across the valley, the monk thought it wise to not advertise the potential threat she might pose. Better to be seen as unarmed to the valley's rural occupants they might pass. Even in Pandaria, there were factions that could be more or less friendly to you depending on your politics.

Often times, the orc woman would be walking, focused on reaching their destination only to find herself walking alone. When she stopped and turned around, her rounded, black and white Pandaren companion would still be a ways behind her, his eyes closed as he walked, not slowly, but deliberately with his staff in hand, a wide spread conical _douli_ hat across his head. There were times he appeared to walk with his eyes closed as though he were listening to a music only he could hear.

The monk's slow, purposeful approach to even the most mundane of tasks, such as walking to a destination, could be frustrating to the orc woman, as it was then. In fact, she would have preferred to run it. But then he would see her and smile brightly as though he were overjoyed to be seeing her again, and her irritation would drain away.

Guozhi could be damned infuriating in the way she could not remain angry with him. It was not difficult to arouse the ire of an orc, but it was almost impossible to make it disappear as fast as the monk was able.

Still, by her estimate, they had covered more than fifteen miles from the small few acres of land where Guozhi had made his home. This was not bad travel time for two people on foot, especially when one seemed to be intent more on enjoying the journey than getting where he was going. She was convinced they could have arrived at Halfhill sooner, but there was nothing to be done for it now.

As they approached the marketplace together, it appeared that the merchants and cooks that frequented it were putting their wares away for the evening. There were tables, and cooking stoves which still held half full dishes of foods that made the orc woman's stomach rumble at the smell. Spring rolls, shrimp and rice, roasted meats with teriyaki sauce, all of it appeared to be destined for a garbage pail as the market chefs began cleaning up for the night.

To the hungry, pregnant orc woman who had been walking for hours, it seemed a cruel thing.

Guozhi, however appeared unperturbed as he approached one of the cooks, a large, barechested Pandaren male with white and light brown markings across his fur. He wore a light jade pair of trousers and cook's mitts. His furred head was crowned with a white toque blanche hat.

The cook looked up from being just about to dispose of his recent culinary works to see him and a great smile broke out across his short snouted, bear like face, "Honorable Guozhi, my old friend! It is good to see you!" He said in common.

"Honorable Kol, it is good to see you as well my friend!" Guozhi replied warmly in the same language.

The two Pandarens embraced warmly as though brothers who had not seen each other in some time, patting each other on the back roughly.

"What brings you this far away from your village in the east?" The chef asked as they let go of one another. "Halfhill has not had the pleasure of your company in some time." His voice was a little accusatory.

"Forgive me, honorable Kol, but solitude and time to meditate still agrees with me. My companion and I have been traveling all day. We have come to see honorable Chen Stormstout. Is he in town?" Guozhi told him, gesturing politely to Shaggara.

"You've been walking all day? Have you had your evening meal yet?" Kol asked, some concern entering his voice.

"Well, no, but..." Guozhi replied humbly.

"Please, you and your companion take what I have left. It would have gone to Farmer Yoon's livestock anyway. Please, whatever you want, my old friend." Kol said, pulling his platters away from the pail they had been intended for and presenting them to the monk and the orc warrior. "And I am certain my other friends would be happy to share what they have left with you." He gestured to the other cooks in the market place and began to wave them over.

"No, please, honorable Kol. We have little gold with which to repay you for your kindnesses." Guozhi replied.

"Nonsense, my friend. Your money is no good with me anyway, and all of this would have gone to waste otherwise. I would rather you and your friend eat and enjoy my work rather than farm animals who would eat their own filth." Kol insisted.

"You are most kind, honorable Kol." Guozhi replied, offering a polite bow.

"No kinder than you have been to our village, honorable Guozhi." Kol replied, returned the bow with a respectful sincerity.

The Pandaren cook then took two clean ceramic plates and filled them with samples of everything he still had. Most of it was meats and vegetables from the grill. Then another chef, a female Pandaren came over with a bowl of rice and stir fried chicken and vegetables. Then yet another of the Pandarens offered them both large mugs of a fruit and spice scented barley beverage.

"Please, good friends. Enjoy!" The Pandaren brewmaster told them warmly and heartily as he gave them the mugs.

Soon, the two travelers were seated at a low table nearby on mats, a near banquet spread out before them. Guozhi smiled as he gestured for a visibly stunned Shaggara to sit and eat.

"Please, honorable Shaggara," he told her kindly, "let us not offend them. We must enjoy their generous gifts as they were meant."

After Shaggara had sat down and began to consume the food which had been placed before her voraciously, Guozhi sat down as well, next to her and began his slow process of taking one bite after another, smelling each one as he did so.

Each bite of the food exploded with flavor as it hit Shaggara's orc tongue. There were tangy citric flavors in the spiced meat that she couldn't identify, and the rice, though cold, had been cooked to such perfection that she might not have doubted the chef had cooked each grain individually. The dishes in front of her quickly emptied as she moved from plate to plate.

After the Pandaren grill master finished cleaning up his own stall, he took a plate of his own leftovers and a mug of spiced barley tea and came to join them. He plopped down opposite both of them and began to eat. Shaggara noticed that he too ate slowly, savoring each bite though not with as much meditative deliberation as the monk.

"So, you said you were looking for Chen?" Kol continued the conversation. "I haven't seen Chen Stormstout for several months. Last time he was here, he spoke of heading into the north lands where your honorable companion is from." The Pandaren said, acknowledging Shaggara's foreign nature.

Guozhi stopped and digested this news as he also digested his food. He then said, "Honorable Shaggara has urgent business which cannot wait. She needs to travel to her embassy in the Vale of Eternal Blossoms to return to her homeland. I had hoped honorable Chen might be of some assistance in this regard."

Kol the looked at the orc woman appraisingly, though politely.

"What are you looking at?" Shaggara then asked as she finished cleaning the third dish which she had been given.

"My apologies, honorable Shaggara. It is not often we see one of your people in our village, and almost never a woman." Kol replied. "We see mostly soldiers and lone adventurers when your people pass through. Most recently, those who have approached me have expressed a desire to stay away from their homeland, and not to return to it urgently."

Shaggara considered this. "I have a problem in my homeland which I must help solve. If I don't, that problem could spread even to here." She told him.

"Why do you not then fly from here to the Vale? Wing Nga is just up the hill with her kites. I am certain she would offer two to you." Kol then asked.

"Riding the winds on a kite is a fine art, honorable Kol." Guozhi replied. "You must know how to ride one, and then you must know where you are going. You and I might be able to control one, but..."

"I've flown a kite before, Guozhi." Shaggara spoke up. "It was years ago, but I remember how, and the Shrine of Two Moons is to the north of us on the other side of the mountains across the Imperial Valley."

Guozhi bowed his head, acknowledging the correction.

"The kite master is just up the hill next to the Lazy Turnip inn. Come, my friends. I am certain she will help." Kol told them.

Varian Wrynn stood at the balcony of his bedchambers in Stormwind Keep that night, unable to sleep, looking out over the city. The great white moon had set some time before, and the stars shone brightly in all their glory. The smaller blue moon was still in the sky, but it was much more humble, and allowed the rest of the celestial lights their due.

He still wore the plain, unadorned clothes which he had kept under his plate armor to keep it from chafing against his skin. He might have been any other common citizen of his kingdom at that moment as he stared at the sleeping city. The lights of the oil lit street lamps dotted and outlined the streets of the human capital.

From his vantage point, he could see his soldiers making their regular patrols along the streets. He was heartened to see that none of them appeared to be shirking in their duties regardless of the wee hours of the extreme early morning. Few establishments were still open, but he could hear drunken singing coming from the Pig and Whistle in the Old Town district of the city, and again hearty, off key dwarven voices coming from the direction of their district's tavern. He smiled at the sound, even though he knew his men would be in both places within moments to allow the surrounding townsfolk their measure of sleep for the rest of the night. The revelry brought back good memories.

His clothes smelled of dust and still smoking ruins, and the scent of them and what it meant lay heavy on his mind. It had not been his choice to visit the site, but he understood the reasons for the former warchief's choice of meeting spots.

He truly wished his son, Anduin, had been there with him. He was so much like his mother. His son was a priest of the Holy Light and a better diplomat than Varian could ever hope to be. He had, at one time, pushed the prince to become a warrior like himself, but his son had found a different calling as a healer and a man capable of bringing peace and seeing another path. Varian didn't have the skill with words that Anduin did, and he knew it. The path of diplomacy he knew best involved the blade of his sword, Shalamayne. His son, however, was far to the south in Pandaria using those talents of his to great effect with the recently discovered bear like peoples.

He and his men had stepped through the portal onto the damaged but still intact wooden docks of the former Alliance port city earlier that day not entirely certain as to what he expected. But, Thrall was a man of honor who knew humans as well as he knew orcs. They had tried to work together in the past with some small success until the recent hatreds between their peoples flared up again, fanned by the arrogant warrior Thrall had insanely appointed as warchief in his stead.

Finding the docks empty, he and his people advanced across the rotting wooden planks until they came to the edge of the former city. Even months later, the stones and ground were still hot and smoking from the devastating mana bomb which had been dropped, and ended all chances for peace between the two warring factions. Jaina Proudmoore, the former ruler of this city, his friend and the woman his son still called "aunt", hadn't been the same person since. She would have called him a fool for responding to Thrall's request, when once upon a time, she would have negotiated the meeting herself.

They waited there for only a few minutes when a large, well muscled orcish figure emerged from within the crater at the center of the ruins. His head was partially concealed by a leather cowl, though the twin braids of his raven black hair fell loosely across his chest. He wore a rough cut leather vest and kilt more suited to the role he had adopted as a shaman of his people, though his wide belt and gauntlets were of a chain mail. His bright green skin told of a former association with fel energies in his youth, but his deep blue eyes declared that he had never succumbed to them willingly. As he stood straight and tall, approaching the human king, his expression serious, the orc might have been mistaken for a king for his bearing and the way he carried himself in spite of his dress. His demeanor suggested that he was no less than the Alliance high king's equal.

It was one of the things Varian could respect about Thrall.

"You are alone?" Varian asked as the orc approached.

"I am never alone, human." Thrall replied. "The elements always surround me." The orc mystic spoke the common human tongue fluently and with the accent native to Lordaeron.

 _Right. Shaman._ Varian had quipped in his own head, though he could not deny the power he had seen such mystics display.

"I wanted you to see this once more." Thrall told him. "To warn you of Garrosh's intents as I have been made aware of them."

"If you're speaking of this new relic he has acquired, and the power it gives him, I already know. Jaina informed me of it days ago." Varian told him.

"I assume you're building an army to storm Orgrimmar and take it from him." Thrall stated as he came to stand in front of the human king. "You and the other Alliance leaders. Don't bother denying it. We both know it's true."

"What else can you expect, orc?" Varian asked him. "I'm surprised Sylvanas hasn't unleashed her plague weapons on Orgrimmar already. At least our way would leave most of your people alive. Look at this crater! We both know what that son of a whore is capable of without such power!"

Thrall nodded in agreement. "Yes, we both know." He then took a deep breath and sighed wearily. "I made a mistake when I appointed him as warchief in my place. He was a natural leader with noble intentions for our people, if somewhat 'spirited'. I thought he could be guided towards better paths than this with the wise counsel of Cairne, Eitrigg, and Vol'jin." He then turned to look at the ruins. "I was wrong."

"And now the world must pay for your mistake." Varian added, rubbing salt in the wound.

Thrall turned his head sharply back towards the human king and grimaced, but then nodded in acceptance of the truth of his sharp barb.

"You should also know that many if not most of my people do not support his actions." Thrall continued. "I have heard whispers on the wind that many would gladly see him brought to justice for his war crimes, but it is no longer so simple… for any of us. These would take up arms against him if it came to it, and not just my people. The tauren and the trolls have been badly mistreated by Garrosh, and Baine Bloodhoof deserves justice for Cairne's murder."

Varian thought he sensed where this was going. "Could you rally them? Could you lead them against him?"

"Maybe." Thrall answered thoughtfully. "But there are many unknowns. This new power, this relic he holds, is new to me. It does not answer to the elements, or draw its power from the ley lines the mages do. And I have heard Garrosh has taken the mage instructor, Marud, into Grommash Hold. No one has seen him for days, but I am told he has been holding secret meetings with Grom's son. This is unusual. Garrosh neither understands nor trusts magic users of any kind. What is he doing with Marud?"

"What indeed?" Varian echoed.

Thrall turned to face him, standing up straight and proud. "Whether you believe this or not, Varian Wrynn, we are more alike than you know. I was a slave gladiator at one time too, did you know this? Held against my will by the lord of Durnholde Keep. But I learned through it that not all humans were twisted like he was." He paused for a minute as though remembering someone before continuing. "We both want the same thing. We both want a future for our people, and peace on this world to keep it. Neither of us had any hand in starting the conflict between our peoples, but it has been left to us to clean up the mess."

Varian nodded in agreement. "I accept that. We've tried peace before. But even if we want it..."

"There are always those who don't." Thrall finished his thought.

The two leaders stood there then in thought.

"There is something else you must know." Thrall then told him. "Information I offer in trust."

"Go on." The human king said, wondering what else he would say.

"Sylvanas has chosen not to use her weapons on Orgrimmar in spite of Garrosh's new power." Thrall informed him. "From what I have been told, life has become more precious to the elf queen now that hers has been restored to her. There will not be another Wrathgate should you invade, and possible allies if you do."

The orc shaman then nodded his head at the human king.

"Why do you tell me all this?" Varian asked.

"To keep this from ever happening again. To anyone." Thrall replied, gesturing towards the crater. "To make this world a fit place for my family, the same as you."

Those were the last words the orc warchief had spoken to Varian before they parted, and they had run through the human king's mind ever since as he considered all of the implications from them. There were many ways he could take them.

He looked out across the city towards Stormwind's harbor where a small fleet of transports and their warship escorts waited. How long did they have before he had to launch them? How long until he risked Stormwind herself meeting the same fate as Theramore?


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

The morning sun was just rising when Eitrigg received a stern knock at the door to his apartment. Had was already awake, but just barely. His mail and leather armor and axe still lay next to the mattress he had removed from the wood bed frame to place directly on the stone floor.

"Ambassador!" Came the stern voice of a male guard. "Her majesty the queen summons you!"

 _What could she possibly want at this hour? I swear that woman still never sleeps, living flesh and blood or not._ Eitrigg thought to himself, forcing his aged eyes to fully open.

"I'M COMING!" Eitrigg responded, bellowing in irritation. It was followed by a snarl and some growling as he pulled on his leathers. Having pulled his boots on he stood up from the floor, picking up his war axe and leaving it in his hand. He chose to leave the mail armor where it was.

He looked disheveled, but he was too old to care. He would send the message by his appearance that an aged orc woken too early was a dangerous enemy indeed.

He pulled the door to his quarters open to find four armed and armored human guards waiting for him. Their expressions were serious, and his trained warrior's eyes noticed their hands fingering the hilts of their swords. They were expecting a fight.

 _So much for us trusting one another_. He thought with some regret.

"Ambassador Eitrigg, her majesty the queen summons you to her throne room immediately." The guard repeated tensely.

The old warrior sized up his potential adversaries before he realized what he was doing. They wore the armor of deathguards, not Arete's death knights. This told him Sylvanas didn't seriously expect to have to force him. It was for show, though the guards were unaware of it. She wanted to reinforce that it wasn't a polite request she was making. Even at his age, it would be their deaths if they tried to _make_ the veteran warrior go. It might possibly be his too, but that wasn't likely.

"Tell her majesty I am coming. Willingly." Eitrigg told them, giving a forced smile.

"We are to escort you to her presence at once." The guard told him as though it weren't obvious.

"I know." Eitrigg replied sarcastically to the man who probably spent most of his days guarding a door no one went through. He then gestured with his free hand. "Lead the way."

The guard nodded nervously as two went before him and two behind as though marching a prisoner. He might have been offended if he wasn't so curious as to what all this was about. He had though the queen and he had come to a mutual understanding of respect if not friendship. They both wanted to see Garrosh gone, and would both work towards that goal. Something had changed to make her want to send a message to him.

They marched through the halls and passageways of the city until they entered the throne room. The first thing Eitrigg took note of was the change in mood, and guards. Gone were the deathguards like the ones who came to "escort" him. Death knights now stood at the doors in their full black plate, their eyes blazing with that unholy pale blue glow as they looked at him.

Her majesty sat on the throne of Lordaeron in her full ranger-general's martial uniform. Her bow, quiver full of arrows, and twin blades rested next to her and within reach. Bags under her otherwise flawless skin told him that she had not slept well if at all that night. Her expression was one which he had not seen on her face since before the "rebirth". It was cold and lethal. The expression one might see on the face of a woman he had betrayed.

Something had definitely changed.

"You sent for me, your majesty?" Eitrigg asked in a flat voice as she stared at him in a cold and calculating way.

"You told me that Garrosh does not know magic. That he would not trust magic users. I destroyed our only real means of stopping him because of your 'counsel', orc." She stated as though they were charges against him, and he came to understand quickly that this was indeed a trial of sorts. She stood up from her throne, picking up her blades from where the rested and holding them in her hands as she slowly approached him. "And then I come to find out last night that he has been training with your city's mage instructor for the past week!"

She paused, awaiting his answer.

"Would it matter if I told you I knew nothing about it?" He said wearily, understanding and even accepting what was about to happen. He kept his axe in his hand. "I have never seen him so much as give a respectful glance to a mage, much less consult with one."

Sylvanas' eyes bore holes into his own as she studied his face, trying to discern if he spoke the truth or not.

She then continued, her voice angered but even. "I have it on good authority that he intends to launch an attack on Stormwind by nightfall."

"What?!" Eitrigg yelled without thinking. "That's insane! We don't have the manpower or the seige weapons for that kind of campaign any more than the Alliance does! That fool will be leading our people into a slaughter and he knows it!"

The queen took in his response, continuing to observe the changing emotions of incredulity and outrage wash over his face.

She then sheathed her twin swords at her sides and raised a hand, gesturing to the death knights who stood by within the chamber. "Leave us." She commanded, her voice ringing with the authority of a general that brooked no dissent from her troops.

One by one her guards saluted and departed the chamber, leaving the two of them alone in the middle of the room, standing over the seal of Lordaeron engraved into the marble and gold floor.

"I believe you." She said, the anger draining from her voice, though the tension did not.

Eitrigg nodded, seeing a glimpse of the woman she had become returning to the face of the woman she had been.

"With the source of magic energy he now holds, my source informs me that even the elementary spells he has mastered under Marud's tutelage would be devastating to the city." She then told him. "There may not be survivors. I need to know now, right now on your honor as a warrior, to whom you owe your allegiance Eitrigg. I need to know whether or not we can trust each other." She told him.

"On my honor, I serve the Horde." Eitrigg told her without hesitation. "I owe my allegiance to my people. I want a future for them as much as you want one for yours. But I do not and will not serve this fool any longer. If you want my loyalty insofar as destroying Garrosh Hellscream, then on my honor you have it, your majesty." His voice was sincere and passionate.

Sylvanas nodded. "Then I will tell you I sent a team of mages hours ago to recover the relic from him. They will ambush him in Stormwind and force it from him. Whether or not he survives the extraction is of no concern to us."

"And if they fail?" Eitrigg asked, his face genuinely concerned.

"Then the Alliance learns a severe lesson in humility and we try again later." She told him.

Eitrigg's face fell at her answer and he shook his hoary orc head sadly. "He is not going there to merely humble the Alliance with a defeat, your majesty. If Garrosh is going to Stormwind, it is to kill every man, woman, and child that he can. He no longer cares for just victory over the humans. He will not be satisfied with anything less than total genocide."

A look of horror broke over Sylvanas' face as she comprehended the orc's words. "There are two hundred thousand people in the Alliance capital..."

Eitrigg nodded "I have known many worthless humans. I care little for these. Garrosh can throw these to his worgs. But I have also known a few with whom I would trust my life and call 'brother'. I have shed blood next to them fighting against the Lich King. I owe my life to the honor and courage of a human paladin. These are worth saving. And there are many, many children in that city. I would give them the chance to grow and prove themselves as honorable warriors that I might also one day call 'brothers'."

"We have twelve hours before Garrosh launches his attack. What do you counsel, Ambassador?" She asked, her voice regaining the steel of decades of leading and commanding armies.

"You have ships, don't you?" Eitrigg asked.

"We can't get them south fast enough." She told him flatly.

"How are you getting your mages to Stormwind?" He asked, knowing the distances involved and coming up short on time.

Light then broke across her darkened, martial features as she nodded.

"Come with me!" She commanded.

She then cried out, loudly shouting orders to those she knew would be waiting to hear them, "Death knights with me! Get me Lord Commander Arete! Send messages to Silvermoon! Have them prepare the destroyers and transports for departure! I want my rangers ready for battle within the hour!"

Several not so distant voices replied swiftly, "Yes, my queen!"

Eitrigg then heard the fierce slapping of metal and leather soled boots on the stone floors in the nearby corridors as her underlings moved quickly to obey.

"Where are we going?" Eitrigg asked, uncertain of her intentions.

"To the Orb of Translocation." She replied, referring to the arcane red crystal device of elven manufacture which allowed instant teleportation from one device to another for even non-mages. One still stood near the central courtyard of the city to allow free passage between Lordaeron and Silvermoon.

"We make for the Sunsail Anchorage in Eversong Woods." She continued. "We can't save all of them Eitrigg, but maybe we can save some. Today will define what the role of our people will be in this new world. I choose for us to take the high road once more."

Eitrigg nodded in understanding, replying as they walked quickly, "Yes… my queen."

The wind whipped around Gereth's face as he soared high over the landscape on the back of a fully grown Thalassian dragonhawk. They were fascinating animals that lived their lives almost entirely airborne, touching down only to lay their eggs. The species had long ago lost its natural fore and rear limbs (though by natural evolution or magical tampering no one knew) and now resembled a crimson, heavily scaled serpent with brightly plumed feathered dragon's wings and fanned tail. The head of the animal resembled that of a horned bird of prey. The feral dragonhawks in the remote parts of Quel'Thalas could be terrifying and relentless death from above to anything caught in their sights.

Of course, that is not what those on the ground would have seen had they looked up. They would have seen a flight of ten gryphons bearing Stormwind's blue and gold lion livery and similarly armored riders.

The Lordaeron mages, led by Gereth at the queen's command, had been flying for hours after teleporting to the old hunting camp in the jungles of northern Stranglethorn in the wee hours before dawn. They were all relying on concoctions and potions by the master alchemists in the service of their queen to maintain their wakefulness and stamina for the action they were about to attempt.

Sylvanas had been right about the elven flying mounts. They were truly only at home in the sky, and showed no signs of tiring as they continued steady on their course northwards. In the time he had to contemplate their plan while they were in transit, he wondered if the creatures slept on their journey, keeping their course northwards unconsciously.

The plan had been a woefully simple one: reach Stormwind before Garrosh's army, infiltrate the city and lay low until they knew for certain where he would appear. Then stun him and keep him encased in ice as the warchief had done to his wife while Gereth extracted the Triforce of Power from him. All of the mages who accompanied him were reborn humans. Except for their northern accents, it was assumed that they would be able to assimilate easily enough into Stormwind's population while they waited.

But as Gereth turned the plan over and over again in his mind, he realized there were too many unknowns. Where would Garrosh be able to teleport or open a portal to? As far as the mage knew, the orc warchief had never seen Elwynn forest, much less Stormwind City any more than Gereth himself had, and a portal or teleportation spell required that you be able to visualize in your mind where you wished to go. How would the orc accomplish this, and would he be able to fit an entire army in the destination point?

As far as Gereth knew, they had once chance at ambushing the warchief. After that, he didn't know what kind of magic they'd be facing from Garrosh, but after seeing firsthand what was possible from his piece of the Golden Flame, the mage knew it wouldn't be child's play.

His other consideration was that he did not know how to make use of the Triforce of Wisdom, the only true advantage they had if all went wrong. The piece of the Golden Flame which he held seemed to be almost a living thing with a will of its own. Its gifts appeared to be much more subtle, inviting him to discover what they were through hints and enigmas in his conscious and subconscious mind. But he had been given no time to sit and riddle them out as it seemed to desire. He had seen one such relic ignite the Hyrulian princess's innate divinity and internal light at the times when she needed it most, giving her extraordinary powers and abilities, bringing her into union with her true self. But so far, for him, it merely posed quiet, unassuming questions in his mind, the answers to which only led to more such questions. Wisdom, it appeared, was to be sought after and won through one's own introspection, and not just given freely.

Beneath him, the rainforest trees and jagged rocks of Stranglethorn gave way to the verdant, gently rolling woods, farm fields and towns of the freshly reborn province which still retained the name of "Duskwood." Like Tirisfal Glades and Andorhal in the north, this formerly cursed province of Stormwind's kingdom had also benefited from the rebirth. Having only been told of the darkened land's former state, he had not seen it himself before now. He could not tell to what extent the energies of Shaggara's wish had changed it, but from the air it looked friendly and inviting, a place one might make a home and a family in peace if peace there was. It reminded him strongly of his wife and their unborn child, and why he was on the back of the dragonhawk looking to pick a fight with the immensely powerful leader of the Horde.

The winged mounts flew on swiftly northward for hours on end. When the mage riders finally saw the river which marked the borderline between the provinces of Elwynn Forest and Duskwood, each began to rouse themselves, knowing that their time was approaching. Not long after their crossing over, the white stones and sapphire rooftops of the Alliance's capital city came into view.

As Gereth looked at the position of the sun in the sky, it was only the late afternoon. Sundown was still two or three hours away. He then signaled to those to his side and rear to circle and land at a place in the woods near the gates of the city, but off the main road and deep enough to where they would not be noticed.

To use the word "land" was not entirely accurate for the dragonhawk mounts as they continued to hover low off the ground while their riders dismounted, sliding down the back and tails of the beasts. When all were off, each mage waved his hand in front of the animal and it disappeared with a brief flash. What remained was a large medallion engraved with the image of the majestic animal which each man pocketed.

Gereth studied himself and his fellow reborn mages. With the glamor spell undone, each now appeared as they were, human mages wearing robes appropriate to their disciplines and all bore staves of one kind or another. It might be unusual for the guards at the gates to see a group of magic users such as these walking through the gates of the city instead of just teleporting in, but it could not be unheard of.

Gereth's own crimson robes still bore the sigil of the Kirin Tor, and he believed it in the best interests of their mission to not alter it. The Kirin Tor was still a semi-neutral party to the conflicts which were fought in their world, and as of late was overseen by the sorceress Jaina Proudmoore who was decidedly, militantly, in the Alliance's sphere of influence. The other men's robes were more plain, some stitched with runes of power, others bearing no markings at all.

There should be no reason for the guards to question their presence. Still, it was the first time any of them had visited the human capital city. For decades, they had seen it as the enemy, and all still held resentments about the treatment of their people while still Forsaken. There was a palpable tension among the men standing there about what they were to attempt.

"I never thought I'd be trying to help stop an invasion of this place." One of the mages, William by name, spoke up as he looked in the direction of Stormwind.

"We aren't." Another man replied, John Garrett, that resentment edging into his voice. "We're just here to put the warchief in his place. What the rest of the Horde does with it is their business. Serves the southerners right."

Gereth had little love for the Alliance folk either, but they couldn't allow their personal feelings interfere with their ruse. "We all have to keep our personal feelings to ourselves if this is going to work and convince the guards. We may not care about what happens to them, but if we don't act our parts well, then this will not work at all. It's not for these people and their families that we fight, but for our own brothers and sisters, and our own future generations. Remember that."

The other men nodded in agreement. They all had a future to fight for now.

"Let's go. Dawn is coming in Orgrimmar." Gereth told them.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

The sun broke blood red over the waters of Bladefist Bay as it ascended slowly, bringing its light to the dry reddened land of Durotar. The crimson light spread as it turned to the orange color of flame and then a golden white as it rose higher over the main harbor of the Horde's warships. Red tarped troop transports and juggernauts weighed down with metal plates and bristling with cannons sat waiting for orders they were sure would come soon as they had been given the word from their superiors that the warchief intended to invade the Alliance heartland. Their captains had plotted the fastest routes to the landing sites they were sure would be used along the northern coast of Westfall.

Further inland, in between the rebuilt dark metal, crimson roofed watchtowers, thousands of warriors had filled the dry rocky plains, the light of the morning sun spreading over the campfires which had been lit as they gathered throughout the previous day and night to wait for their warchief's orders. Mostly made up of Garrosh's own orcs, one could see the horns of tauren scattered among them, as well as the lengthy tusks of the blue skinned Darkspear trolls. One might have been forgiven for thinking that all of Orgrimmar had emptied into the basin at the base of Durotar's mountains there were so many who had answered the warchief's call willingly… or, if one had looked in the eyes of many, unwillingly. None had the strength of will to resist the command of Garrosh Hellscream any longer.

The warchief himself stood among his troops all night near a great bonfire with the other, weaker leaders of the remaining races of the Horde, watching as his forces were collected, making estimates as to the strength of his numbers for his audacious battle plans. What he intended had not been done by a Horde warchief since the days of Orgrim Doomhammer during the first war.

 _I will destroy Stormwind City and more. I will do what not even Doomhammer could do, and what Thrall was too weak to do._ He thought to himself.

Not far from his reach, a human wretch sat in the dirt in chains. His gray hair and unkempt beard were matted with filth. His eyes were hollow and distant, and his dirty blue robes were tattered and torn. Brownish blue bruises mottled his face and skin. The prisoner had been kept alive for years in Orgrimmar's dungeons, occasionally providing useful tactical information. Today, he would prove why the warchief still kept the filthy vermin fed yet again.

On a waist high metal stand near the warchief stood what looked like a large ball made entirely of clear, flawless glass or crystal. Garrosh had brought it himself along with the prisoner, though no one appeared to understand the warchief's purposes with either.

When the sun's rays struck Garrosh's large muscular frame, he surveyed his gathered forces yet again. By his estimates there were about three thousand warriors surrounding him. He knew that the human city boasted a population in the hundreds of thousands, but most of those would not be soldiers or fighters, but shopkeepers, weak human women, and children; easily slaughtered.

If he had intended to mount a ground invasion using their fleet, then he would have needed ten times that number to lay siege to the human capital, land troops in their harbors, and hold their territory. But things had changed, and he could feel the raw energies of the power now flowing within him. These would be enough.

He stacked some empty crates, one on top of another and mounted them, putting himself up higher to where most of his people could see him.

"Warriors of the Horde! Hear me!" He called out, his voice loud and strong.

Three thousands heads all turned in his direction hanging on his words.

"There is a stench in this world's air! It reeks of the filth of the weak human vermin that infest this world! Today, we cleanse Azeroth once and for all of this thorn, this irritating gnat that has annoyed us for the last time! Today, we exterminate the human rats! Today, we deliver a message to the Alliance that they will never forget, and that will haunt them in their nightmares forever! Today we shout to the world that we claim all of Azeroth. TODAY, A NEW DAY DAWNS FOR THE HORDE!"

A great cry rose up among the warriors in acclamation of their warchief as they took up his call, "FOR THE HORDE!"

Garrosh then stepped down from the crates to the ground. He strode to where the human prisoner sat in his filth on the ground. He bent down and grabbed the human's chain roughly, jerking the prisoner to his feet.

"Come filth, prove your usefulness to me once more." He told the one time human mage.

He dragged the frail human over to the crystal ball and put the human's bony hand on its clear surface.

"Now mage, show me Stormwind City." Garrosh commanded the man.

The mage didn't appear to respond in any way. He continued to stare blankly into the distance. But the previously clear crystal ball began to fill with a milky white mist and soon images of a shining, walled white city by the sea came into view. Garrosh studied the images intently, giving commands to the mage to focus on certain sections of the city and its outskirts.

 _I need somewhere large enough for all of us._

After several minutes like this Garrosh ordered the man, "Hold! There, that farm field just outside the northern gate up, against the mountains."

The scene in the ball quickly changed to a ground view of a quiet farmstead near the shore of a small lake in view of the city. There were no soldiers there, and the walls and gates of the city were less fortified. Garrosh assumed this was due to the natural shield wall the mountain range to the north of the city provided. They would never expect an attack from there.

Garrosh studied the image, making sure he could picture it firmly in his mind. There could be no mistakes with this. He was going to attempt magic that would kill even the greatest of Azeroth's wizards. Marud had told him this many times when the warchief had shown him his great vision.

 _I will be greater than them still_. He told himself. _When I am done, they will bow to me as to a god._

Garrosh, the image of his destination firmly in his mind, called upon the limitless energies of the relic which had bonded itself with him. He had grown used to the power it afforded him, supplying his muscles and mind so that he no longer even needed to eat unless he wished to. It had become easy to draw from it as he began to understand that the limits of mere mortals no longer applied to him.

He then began the incantation for teleportation. The human filth that had dropped to his feet had provided the exact phrase needed to target the human capital city, he only needed the image of the exact destination.

Soon, azure and crimson arcs of power began to light up around Garrosh and expand rapidly outwards in a circle around him enveloping those in his inner radius first and proceeding further into the ranks of his troops. He could feel the power channeling through him as the teleportation ring flew outwards to the very edges of his men's encampments.

He then brought the incantation to a conclusion with the final word of the spell, the destination.

"Stormwind City." Garrosh intoned.

In a flash of sapphire energies, the entire gathering of three thousand warriors appeared to implode inwards and then vanished from the red desert plains, arcs of lightning playing across the dry, cracked surface where the armed forces of the Horde had been.

Varian Wrynn stood in his dark, lion and eagle shouldered royal plate armor on his balcony, watching the fading light of the sunset in the west. He had newly shaved the beard he was growing and looked more the pit-fighter he had been in appearance than the kingly image he had tried to cultivate for a time. He always felt more at home, more himself when dressed for battle than when dressed for settling the minor disputes in his throne room earlier that day. His great twin-blade sword Shalamayne rested comfortably in his hand, the weight of the sword a kind of reassurance to his tense soul.

His men were not ready for combat, and yet into combat he would have to lead them, ordering them into the transports first thing in the morning. The number of soldiers in the city with whom he would embark in his invasion of Durotar numbered upwards of two or three thousand. He had finally received word later in the afternoon that they would be joined by dwarven battalions from Ironforge bused by the underground tram at dawn, and ships from Darnassus off the coast of Azshara en route. The Draenei of the Exodar had promised a contingent of holy paladins and priests of the Holy Light that would accompany the Night Elves. He had all but been assured by Thrall that there would be rebels within Orgrimmar that would rise up and join them in overthrowing the mad orc. There would be heavy losses to all, but with their combined strength they had a chance to end the new threat that Thrall's appointee had become, and perhaps finally bring the peace that his son, Anduin, so believed was possible.

He had heard nothing from Lordaeron, and did not expect to, though he would have been a fool to not expect _her_ to know of the Alliance's intentions. For all of Sylvanas's hatred towards Varian Wrynn and his people, he knew she had neither love nor respect for Garrosh Hellscream. The orc warchief would have no support from the former banshee queen. As long as she stayed in her corner of Azeroth and was happy to stay out of it, The king of Stormwind was satisfied.

The sun continued its journey beneath the waters of the Great Sea in the distance until finally, it was extinguished and the stars and constellations of the night sky shone furiously overhead. The oil fed streetlamps of the city burned along its streets and alleys once more as though trying to mimic the great celestial lamps overhead. The city was quieting down once more, and Varian turned from his balcony to enter back into his bed chambers.

Then his bedchambers, already dimly lit with lamps and candles became awash in a flash of intense, bluish white light. His own, armored human form cast a long shadow for just the briefest of instants across it as though lightning had just struck behind him.

He spun around to see what had caused the great flash of light. And then the next thing he saw was the northern defensive wall of the city explode inward in a great fireball of force.

Alarm bells began to ring furiously around his city and soldiers began to shout orders to one another.

"WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!" The cry rang out from the guards on the walls and towers of the city as Varian watched wave after wave of orcs, tauren, and trolls pour through the irreparable breach in the city's defenses.

Varian heard the cry being taken up in the balcony behind him. He was already running for the stairs down to the city's streets.

"Burn everything! Kill every human, dwarf, and elf you see! Spare no one! Not a man, woman, or dirty little offspring will escape the wrath of the Horde!" Garrosh bellowed, snarling savagely as he led his troops through the breach in the wall. "No weak Alliance scum will escape your axes!"

Garrosh's right hand burned with an intensity that was painful as the three triangle mark on his hand blazed like a beacon for all to see. He could see the fear in the eyes of both his enemies and his troops as he passed, and he reveled in it.

Bells and alarms rang out around the warchief as his men threw torches and firebrands into open windows and onto rooftops. Soon, the acrid smelling stench of burning buildings filled his nostrils and made his blood pump even harder. Humans, dwarves and other denizens of the city began to pour out of the structures where they were cut down by the waiting butchers following their leader's commands to the letter.

Not a few such weaklings fell to Garrosh's own axe, Gorehowl as he marched through the quarter of the city they had found themselves in. Moving from street to street, his men progressed. So far, they had met an inordinate amount of dwarves for a human capital. Many of the short, stocky braided beard folk leapt out of their houses barefoot and in nightclothes with axes in their hands at his invading forces only to end up next to their kin on the ground, their bodies cleaved in some way, their red blood running between the cobblestones of the streets.

Garrosh's axe hand did not tire as it might have at one time. All of his enemies seemed to move in slow motion around him as Gorehowl rose and fell on armed and unarmed alike. They were wheat to his sickle, and the harvest he reaped with his father's weapon was great indeed. The Alliance would not recover from its final encounter with a Hellscream.

Armored human troops bearing the tabards of Stormwind began to flood into the dwarf's quarter of the city to counter the invading forces. Garrosh did not wait for his own warriors to join them, but lunged himself at the metal clad weaklings with relish.

"They're massacring civilians!" One of the humans called out to his fellows, and the word began to pass back among their ranks as more of the Alliance soldiers filled in the streets. "The monsters are killing everyone!"

Overhead, arrows and shot from boomsticks began to rain down on Garrosh's men from the remaining walls. With a snarl of rage, he called on the arcane energies he possessed and directed them towards the walls and towers surrounding them. Instantly, it looked as though fireworks were exploding around the dwarven quarter as bright bluish bolts of energy felled man after man, seeking each human soldier like missiles that could not miss. Other mages and shaman of the Horde did likewise, though their efforts were paltry in comparison to the power their warchief had command of.

The humans' fire from above them ceased, and Garrosh returned to the dozens of armored prey rushing at him. Gorehowl rose and fall as the warchief reaped his deadly harvest, smashing and slicing through plate, mail, and leather. He couldn't understand why the humans didn't seem to be putting up much of a fight, and indeed seemed to be moving deliberately slowly as though wanting to give him time to cut them down.

 _Perhaps they despair of their pathetic lives so much that they welcome the release my axe brings._ He mused as he ripped into them.

The Horde warriors around him appeared entranced as they watched their warchief fight. They had never seen one move so fast that they could barely see his motions. He felled man after man by himself, only clearing a path through the Stormwind soldiers and leaving few actual warriors for them to claim the glory of the kill for themselves.

As he broke through their ranks and led his men to the nearby gate which led into the rest of the city, the warchief began to realize a flaw in his tactical plan. Garrosh remembered some of the layout of the human capital from what he had seen in the crystal ball, but he soon saw that Stormwind City was larger than he had imagined it would be as the city was laid out before him, running down as it were from the mountains towards the harbor. It was three times the size of Orgrimmar and the various quarters of the city were surrounded by their own walls, and separated by canals of water. They were connected only by bridges which could be cut off and defended from invasion more easily than he anticipated.

 _Perhaps the humans who built this city weren't as incompetent in their defensive engineering as I had imagined. This is going to take all night._ He thought to himself. _Ground troops alone won't be able to finish the job._

He then observed a quarter of the city in the distance, distinguished by its violet rooftops from the rest of the city. He didn't know what the difference in colors of the Stormwind's quarters meant, and he didn't care. Focusing his desire and his rage, and channeling the power of the relic within him he called forth one of the many new weapons in his arsenal and directed it to that portion of the human capital.

Immediately, a storm of massive flaming rocks began to rain down from a clear night sky on the violet rooftops and towers of that quarter of the city and it erupted in flames and immense, powerful explosions. Soon, the fires spread and engulfed it as he continued to pour his hate into the spell, directing the power he wielded into the city's destruction.

Satisfied with the results he witnessed, he then turned his attention to the quarter of the city immediately south of him which held reddish brown tiled human built buildings and shops that he could see. A tornado of fire formed, towering high over the buildings and began to move slowly, destroying everything in its path as Garrosh directed it.

The horde warriors swarmed around their motionless warchief, some of them watching in amazement at the devastation being wrought on Stormwind City by his word and thought alone. The rest continued their campaign of butchery, catching residents fleeing from their homes and striking them down, leaving their corpses on the pavement.

And then, in the distance he heard a familiar, hated man's voice shouting orders to the human troops and it broke his concentration as the flaming vortex vanished, leaving behind buildings engulfed in blazing infernos.

"All able bodied men take up arms! Evacuate the women and children to the harbor! We'll hold them at Cathedral Square! Fight for your lives! Fight for your families! FIGHT FOR THE ALLIANCE!" The man shouted orders, his voice filled with his own sense of authority.

 _No, Varian Wrynn, you cannot hold us anywhere any longer, but you will meet your gods in front of your cathedral._ Garrosh thought with satisfaction as he began his march towards the massive white towered structure which dominated Stormwind's skyline. _Gathering your people in one place will only make this faster for me. I will kill you, and then I will exterminate all of your people at once._

He had an old score to settle with the human ruler.

The king of Stormwind directed the evacuation of the trade and residential districts and Cathedral Square himself. The orphanages and homes had been quickly emptied. Whatever able bodied men and women there were were given swords. Those paladins who had been in residence joined his forces at the forefront of the battle. Those priests who were in the city now escorted masses of people, mostly children and the elderly, to the shelter of the sea being cut off from the rest of Elwynn forest by the Horde's swiftly moving advance. His thought had been to get as many as possible onto the troop transports waiting in the harbor if all went wrong.

And by his reckoning at that juncture, all was going wrong. The battle had been raging for hours, and the Horde was gaining ground far too quickly. The city had been reconstructed after the first war to withstand any attack or siege and make the invaders pay for every inch of ground they gained with blood. But the assumption had always been that the attack would come from the sea or from Elwynn Forest, not from the north side of the city! There wasn't even land on the other side of the northern mountains! It was a massive harbor surrounded on all sides by stone and rock that was impassible for any army! They had thousands of mages of every Alliance race residing in Stormwind should an assault by magic occur! And how in the twisting nether had thousands of Horde troops slipped around them to attack from the north! It was impossible! None of this should be happening!

He had watched with grim resignation as the Old Town and Mage's Quarter exploded in flames, but there was nothing he could do for them or the people within them. He didn't even have the time to mourn their losses. Those few mages that managed to escape the flames stood with his other troops trying to hold back the encroaching enemy warriors.

He longed to be in the forefront of the battle and make those orc bastards pay for every innocent life they took with ten more, but his first responsibility as king was the safety of his people. That was what his son, Anduin, who would be a more righteous king than he Varian was certain, would tell him.

Word had spread to him quickly as he had been rushing with his men towards the Horde forces of their slaughter of civilians. Realizing what was happening, and the depths of depravity to which Garrosh had sunk, the king of Stormwind had to save as many of his own people from being massacred as he could.

He stood before the wide canal of Stormwind which separated the religious center of the city from the Dwarven Quarter, in front of the gate of the city which led into the now empty Cathedral Square. His great sword Shalamayne gripped tightly in his hand as he continued to issue orders to his men who were furiously moving from house to house pulling people from their homes and moving them towards the waiting transports.

But the Horde was moving too quickly through the city, and the men he sent to slow them down didn't seem to matter as the fires and screams of the dying raged closer and closer to his position. He knew of the new power Garrosh had taken possession of, but he had no idea of what it was capable of until he saw the fast moving wave of destruction first hand.

He knew Garrosh Hellscream would be here in the thick of the battle. The orc was many evil things, but Varian had never known cowardice to be one of them. He learned that in the Northrend campaigns. The warchief would be leading his men from the front as the king himself longed to be.

"How many sections of the city have been cleared?" He asked his adjunct next to him.

"The trade districts near the front gate, Cathedral Square, and the northeast residential districts have all been evacuated, your majesty." The veteran soldier reported, his voice firm and unwavering. "But there still remains the southeastern residences near..."

Varian cut him off, "How much time?"

His adjunct looked at him gravely and answered, "With as fast as the enemy is advancing... not enough. And we don't have enough transports for all of the evacuees. Some of the mages have begun opening portals to our allied cities for our people to flee through, but there just aren't enough, and they tell me they're risking damaging something called the "ley lines" in trying to move so many people at once."

Varian considered this information as his adjunct continued.

"Our problem isn't the Horde troops themselves, it's their leader. He's plowing through our own people as though they were mere distractions and breaking through our lines as though they weren't there. My men tell me he is using magic against them with a power none of them have ever seen before and it appears inexhaustible. If we could distract him long enough, we might be able to hold off the rest of them and clear the rest of the city that's still standing."

"How long do you need?" The king asked him, knowing what he had to do.

Garrosh cut his way through the pathetic weaklings that came at him. Some he beheaded, some he simply waved his hand and they were thrown through solid walls as the power of the relic coursed through him. All fell before him as he marched towards the center of the massive city, his army behind him picking at his leavings.

He observed, here and there, the various races that had made the city their home running for their lives towards the harbor. He let these go. Better to destroy them all at once than to constantly be distracted by every little piece of filth in his way.

The city around him was in flames, and those fires were spreading gloriously from rooftop to rooftop. By the morning, there would be nothing left of the rat's nest but ashes and rubble. And then his Horde would move on and sweep the rest of the human kingdom, rooting out the rest of their miserable little lives and ending them. The Kingdom of Stormwind would never rise again. And then Khaz Modan and Ironforge would be next. Garrosh planned on burying those troublesome dwarves in their mountain city permanently.

"I'M WAITING FOR YOU HELLSCREAM! COME AND FACE ME IN FRONT OF THE CATHEDRAL YOU COWARDLY BUTCHER!" A human man's voice cried out loudly from somewhere across the canal in front of him. He didn't have to ask who dared to challenge him. He knew the fool's voice very well.

He was going to enjoy this.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

The king of Stormwind stood waiting on the blue carpeted steps of the Cathedral of Holy Light. Behind him stood the great white temple and training ground for his people's holy warriors, dedicated to justice, virtue and charity. In front of him, off to his left but close to the Cathedral was the white stone main orphanage of Stormwind, commissioned to care for those children made parentless by the decades of war which had ravaged their world. Off to his right stood a shop where a paladin might find the tools with which to avenge those children's parents. About fifteen yards in front of him stood a great ornamental fountain capped with a statue, a remembrance of the great paladin hero, Uther the Lightbringer holding his warhammer and a paladin's tome surrounded by trees and park benches. It was meant to be a place of reflection and peace.

Varian Wrynn had never been a paladin. He would never be virtuous enough for that. Kidnapped while on a diplomatic mission, he spent years with amnesia believing himself to be a slave pit-fighter named Lo'gosh fighting to the death for the amusement of orcs in Kalimdor. He had returned to his kingdom only to find that some foul magic had actually split him into two physical people, one the gladiator and hot headed fighter, the other the royal diplomat and dandy. Those two halves had been rejoined, but had been constantly in conflict until the kind ministrations of his now good friend Genn Greymane, the lord of the Gilnean worgen.

It was his son Anduin who might have been the paladin had he been more adept with a sword or a mace than a dagger and bow. His son could see the other side of an argument, and had made friendships among members of the Horde that he to this day still could not understand, but he had been learning. Anduin made him want to be a better father and king.

Shalamayne had been split into its two halves, Shalla'tar and Ellamayne. The twin swords of the great blade rested tensely in either of his dark plate gauntlets. Never a particularly religious man, nevertheless, in front of the Cathedral he had said a quick prayer to the Holy Light. He had prayed not for himself, but for his people that they might live, and for his son that he would be a better king than he. He knew at least one of those prayers would be answered. He would fight to ensure the other.

The square had been emptied of all other persons on his orders. It felt eerily still in comparison to the screams, shouts of pain, and flames which he could still hear and feel encroaching on the religious center of his people. The oil street lamps around the square still burned with their dim, orange light.

This was between him, the Horde warchief, and no one else. They would finish their ongoing fight which was continuously being interrupted by cooler heads than theirs, one way or the other. Tonight, the only thing he had left was his rage.

Out of the corner of his eye to the left he thought he saw movement in the shadows, but then it disappeared again just as quickly. He turned his head, focusing on the direction of the movement where he thought he caught the sight of the corner of a robe just being pulled into the open doorway of the orphanage.

"VARIAN WRYNN!" The orc's voice bellowed from across the square, and the king's attention returned to the task at hand. If some fool had chosen to hide in the orphanage, there was nothing he could do about it now.

The king's eyes focused on the sight of the huge, bald orc entering from the archway. He was alone. Varian didn't expect otherwise. It was a matter of honor and personal satisfaction for the both of them. And he was about to up the stakes, as if they weren't high enough already.

"I challenge you for leadership of the Horde!" Varian called out his rival. "I challenge you to Mak'Gora!"

Varian knew the rite well. It was a fight to the death. No armor was permitted. Each combatant was allowed one weapon. The only fly in the ointment here was that there would be no witnesses, but that was merely a formality between them. They would kill each other regardless.

Across the square, Garrosh stood up straight, taken by surprise by the formal challenge. And then he smiled. "ACCEPTED!" He bellowed back. "I will enjoy breaking every bone in your body, worm!"

Varian then heard the sound of plate and leather hitting and slapping the paving stones of the square as Garrosh removed his armor, exposing his bulging, tight muscles under his brownish green skin. It was foolish at this point he knew, but he did the same, unbuckling his own plate armor shoulders and breastplate, letting them fall to the ground, the minutes ticking away as he took the time to do it. Soon, he was bare chested, sporting his own well muscled body scarred from savage fights, barefoot and only in his wool breaches. The feeling of the night air, heated with the flames of his burning city felt strangely familiar and welcoming as he joined his twin swords back into their whole form once more. He would honor the orc's tradition of a single weapon.

The king of Stormwind then descended the steps of the Cathedral to meet the orc warchief as a pit fighter once more, armed with only Shalamayne, his own skills and strength, his warrior's mind which had been honed in countless battles, and of course, his honor.

The orc warrior came out from around the fountain, only the great axe Gorehowl in his hand and leather breeches on his legs. He too was barefoot and bare handed. If things had been different, one might have said they were equally matched for an orc and a human. But then Varian spotted the mark on Garrosh's hand that he had been told of. It blazed brightly with golden white energies its triangular shape.

All things were not equal. Varian accepted that, and the odds against him. They had always been against him.

The orc charged him, shouting his battle cry, his axe raised high. He moved _fast_ , faster than any mortal creature should be able to and the king could only just side step, bringing his own sword around to be blocked by Gorehowl. The next thing he felt was a massive orc fist to the side of his head and he fell backwards dazed only to catch himself and raise Shalamayne again to receive another strike by the orc's war axe. He let go of the blade with one hand to punch the orc hard between his legs and the beast howled in pain.

No one said pit fighters fought fair.

He took his advantage and pressed it, bringing Shalamayne around to slice at the green skinned monster in front of him and noted with some satisfaction as the tip of the blade bit into orc flesh and opened up a gash across Garrosh's chest. He followed through his spin with a back handed fist striking the new wound hard, sending shards of pain throughout the orc's body he knew.

But then Garrosh recovered quicker than he anticipated, and slashed out with Gorehowl hard scraping the edge of his blade across Varian's muscled back. It was followed by a swift kick by the orc's dirty bare foot and Varian pitched forward. Wet blood spilled from the open gash down his back, and sharp shooting agonies wracked his body, but he couldn't succumb to them. Not yet. He hadn't delayed him long enough, and he intended to give the young warchief the fight he had been seeking.

This wasn't about winning, and it wasn't about surviving the fight. The king of Stormwind let go of his fears of dying, his fears of loss, and his fears of failure. His one thought was his people. A calm settled over him and a new strength flowed through him under the statue of the paladin hero.

Varian picked himself up, ignoring the damage his body was screaming at him and charged the orc.

In the city around them, orc, tauren, and troll warriors continued their advance past the walls of Cathedral Square and the trade districts, albeit much more slowly. Without their leader at the fore, though, they met far more resistance as they came into conflict with the city's defenders. The walls, canals, and watchtowers of the city now began to restrict the advances of the invaders as they were designed to do.

But the restrictions on movement went both ways as paladins were forced to fight on foot, and Horde warriors quickly adapted the use of the walls, buildings, and barriers to their advantage. They continued to follow the last orders of their warchief and fires erupted along every stretch of neighborhood and shops they passed. Some of the more vicious of Garrosh's troops, consumed by bloodlust, began throwing the heads of their hapless victims at the Alliance troops.

The harbor of Stormwind, still at a distance from the front lines of the fighting was filled with people. Old men and women too aged to fight, many, many children and their caretakers, and those priests who were not lending their abilities to the defense of the city had all crowded along the wharf and the docks vying to be able to board the transports or run through what portals away from the city were able to be opened by the few remaining mages who had survived the destruction of their neighborhoods and homes.

But the bulk of the people still remained on the land and high stone stairways leading down into the harbor, thousands of them. Frightened people in night clothes, children clutching dolls and stuffed toys who had been pulled from their beds while still asleep, infants crying for the noise in their mother's scared arms; the harbor was awash in chaos and confusion as the priests and few constables who joined them tried to maintain order and evacuate as many as possible to whatever safe haven they could.

"Look!" Someone on the docks cried out as red and gold sails of elven design were spotted in the distance.

Those white robed priests and armored constables who were tasked with controlling the crowds looked out to the sea and spotted the ships that were incoming from the north. Several sailors that were on the docks and worked the harbor, recognizing the sails and the ships that bore them, "Blood elf destroyers! They're coming at us from the sea!"

A great cry of panic arose as the ships grew closer and the people didn't know where to run to. They had run to the harbor for safety only to see their death come at them from the seas.

Then dozens of large bodies appeared to leap from the ships into the night sky, their wings spread wide and they sped high overhead towards the harbor. People started shoving and screaming as they drew closer and it could be seen that they were armored gryphons displaying the black livery of the knights of the Ebon Blade… death knights.

Then several of the gryphons touched down on the wooden docks as people ran from them and men in crimson and violet robes dismounted from them accompanied by an elven woman wearing the blue cloak and golden armor of a ranger general of Silvermoon. Freed of their extra weight, the black armored gryphon riders then went to join their comrades as they sped towards the belching smoke and flames of the battle in the city above the harbor.

She shouted with authority to the men in robes. "Open portals to Lordaeron and Silvermoon there, there, and there! Women and children first! Get these people to safety now!"

The elven mages who had accompanied her moved rapidly to obey as bluish, ovoid pools of energy opened around the harbor and the mages who opened them began shouting for the people to go through.

She then shouted to the priest nearest to her, her voice commanding and regal, "Who's in charge here!"

"Who… who are you?" The priest, an older man in a white robe with gold trim and short cropped white beard and hair, asked, frightened.

"The woman who's trying to save your lives!" Sylvanas Windrunner answered. "I have more transports coming in escorted by destroyers. Those we can't get through the portals, we get onto the transports. My knights and rangers are joining the fight above. The destroyers will provide cover fire if necessary. Get the children out first!"

The man froze as though not understanding what he just heard, and then hope began to dawn on him as he comprehended what was happening. He then began shouting to his fellow priests, the dock workers, and anyone he could to get the people to cooperate.

Sylvanas watched the proceedings become organized as the frightened people began to understand that her people weren't there to kill them all. She gave orders that the human transport captains were to make for the rebuilt harbor at Southshore in Hillsbrad to the north, escorted by her own fighting ships. She made certain that the full Stormwind transports were removed from the docks and her own ships brought in to be loaded with more scared people.

 _The city may fall, but these people will live._ She thought to herself grimly.

The mages in Silvermoon earlier in the day had balked at first when she explained to them what she wanted.

"Do you understand what you are proposing? It would take dozens of us, and so much arcane energy that it would be like flashing a large beacon to the burning legion to..." The archmage had protested.

"Can it be done?" She had cut him off. "Yes, or no."

The archmage appeared to shrink back from the cold expression she gave him. She had been given no time for dramatics and would tolerate none from him.

The mage thought for a minute. "Yes, your majesty, it can be done, but why? Why risk so much for these humans? We owe them nothing!"

Sylvanas had no answer for him at first. But then she asked him a question, "What kind of a person do you wish to be, mage? How do you wish the Maker to judge you?"

The mage stepped back from her at her question as he sought an answer. Failing, he then replied, "It will be done, my queen."

It had been complicated and dangerous, but they managed to teleport over a dozen destroyers and almost as many transports off the coast of Stormwind, and somehow hadn't lost a single mage though many lay exhausted and unconscious from the effort on the wooden decks of the ships. She had ordered the participation of almost every magic user in Silvermoon to accomplish it, but that part of her altruistic gamble had at least succeeded. Now that she had shown her hand, she sought to finish the game.

The harbor began to empty more quickly as people fled through the portals or onto the ships. She would figure out where to relocate them later. For now, all that mattered was the evacuation. Satisfied that her orders were being carried out, she whistled loudly and another gryphon appeared in the sky, quickly swooping down to land hard on the wooden dock beside her. She leaped onto the gryphon and took off again, heading to join her rangers in the city above them.

The Alliance defenders of the city were being pushed back slowly as the night wore on. A defensive position had been established at the gate near the canals which led down to the harbor. They knew that if they lost this gate their friends, their families, and everyone in Stormwind would die. Eyes forwards towards the fight, they did not see what was happening in the harbor below them. Their king was nowhere to be seen, and they were losing hope at the site of the once majestic beacon of human civilization in flames.

Then several of the men shouted, "Look to the skies!" as they heard the screeches of war gryphons high above them.

Alliance and Horde faces alike looked upwards at the newcomers as they swooped low and graceful elven figures in dark cloaks leaped off their backs, bows in hand. The next thing the Horde forces knew was that the sky was raining arrows that did not miss as the elven rangers joined the fight.

The gryphons circled around and the black armored knights on their backs brandishing heavy, two handed swords gave a loud battle cry, "FOR AZEROTH!"

Dozens of death knights drove into the mob of Horde warriors, their eyes blazing with unholy pale blue light. Suddenly, the cold chill of death gripped the green and blue skinned fighters as the death knights unleashed the combat magics of the grave upon them. Orcs imploded as maggots burst forth from their bodily openings. Tauren shamans began hemorrhaging uncontrollably as their very blood boiled within them. Dead soldiers, slain in combat rose up and began hacking away at terrified, superstitious trolls. The very ground itself began to rip their souls from their living bodies as the darkness of death took hold.

The elven rangers began shooting their former Horde comrades at random, though being careful to avoid hitting human, dwarf, night elf, or any other Alliance defender they could discriminate. Those were their queen's orders and they fulfilled them without fail. When arrows failed, twin curved blades were unleashed as the rangers became moving whirlwinds of bloodshed.

But as much as they did, their objective was not to slaughter the thousands of Horde warriors that still remained. They themselves did not have the manpower for that.

Then another elven woman in ranger's garb dismounted from a gryphon landed behind the lines near the gate and demanded, "Where is King Varian?!"

"Gone!" One of the human soldiers responded. "Towards the Cathedral Square!"

The elf woman took note of this and the absence of the warchief from these front lines, making guesses as to what had drawn the human king off. It wasn't difficult to assume that he wouldn't be returning, and not from cowardice. That was one fault the human ruler did not appear to possess at least.

"Who is in command?!" She then demanded.

"I am, ma'am," came the response of an older looking, clean shaven human warrior in Stormwind issued armor and livery, "Colonel Troteman of Lakeshire." He was manning a large, complex looking gnomish rifle mounted on a tripod and had been using it against the Horde troops with deadly effect. The hint of an olive green military jacket peeked out from underneath his breastplate.

"Get your injured down the harbor, Colonel!" The elven woman commanded, her voice not permitting dissent. "I have transports and portals waiting. Signal the retreat! We will hold them while you get out of here!"

"No ma'am!" The old warrior protested gruffly, "I don't know who you think you are, giving me orders, but we are not abandoning this city!"

"The city is lost! I am the woman who is trying to make sure your men live to fight again you arrogant fool! Get your men down there, NOW!" She ordered again.

"Now listen lady, I answer only to the king of Stormwind and I..." The man began to say again.

But Sylvanas didn't have time for his nonsense. She grabbed him by his breast plate and hauled him to his feet face to face with her. Her expression was lethal, and her face as hard as steel. "No, you listen, you little turd. Your men are fighting a losing battle. Your king is gone. If you don't order your men to retreat, I will throw you over that ledge and you will reach the harbor the hard way. Am I understood?"

"Who the hell are you, lady?" He asked, his voice cracking under her glare.

"Sylvanas Windrunner." She breathed at him as though it were a threat. "Queen of Lordaeron."

The color drained out of the man's face as he looked into the faint emerald glow of her elven eyes. The stench of human urine began to waft from the man's breeches, and the queen wrinkled her nose in disgust at the man. He shrank back from the woman as she let go of his armor.

The man's tongue then unfroze as he began shouting in terror, "R-Retreat to the harbor! Injured first! All Alliance forces, pull back to the harbor!"

Varian Wrynn knelt on the paving stones of the Cathedral square bruised and bleeding as he continued to jab and thrust with Shalamayne. His strength was failing him as he caught the orc's blows again and again, though not always in the way he intended.

Garrosh had taken his fair share from the king as well, but showed no signs of being weakened or slowing. Greenish brown bruises decorated the orc's face and greenish orc blood flowed from various nicks and gashes across his frame.

"I'll admit, human, you fight well for a worm." Garrosh told him, an evil grin spreading across his tusked face. "But you had to know this was useless. Fate has already determined the outcome of this day. The time of the Alliance is over, worm. The time of the Horde has begun. First Stormwind will fall and we will grind every piece of filth in it into dust. Then we will raze the rest of Elwynn Forest to the ground..."

A new rage grew within Varian at the orc's words, giving him strength as he cried out at him, "NEVER!"

The human warrior launched himself at the orc with all the remaining strength he had and a speed he didn't know he was capable of. It caught Garrosh off guard while he was speaking and the tip of Shalamayne bit deep into the orc's chest, slipping between his ribs and burying itself in the orc's muscle and organs.

"ARGHHHHHH!" Garrosh cried out in pain and surprise at the wound, throwing his arms back and dropping Gorehowl, he stumbled back and forth on his feet.

Varian himself then fell away, his last bit of strength spent he tumbled to the ground trying to keep himself conscious long enough to see the life drain out of the orc warchief's eyes. The warchief stumbled to his knees, breathing heavily.

"Fall, damn you, orc! FALL!" Varian yelled at him.

But he didn't. The triangle mark on his hand blazed with it's burning golden light and its energies appeared to be spreading throughout the orc's body. Varian then watched with horror as Garrosh gripped Shalamayne's hilt and pulled it, sliding it from its resting place in his chest with a sucking sound. As the blade exited his chest the wound sealed behind it and Garrosh's eyes glowed brightly with a hellish red light.

Garrosh gripped both ends of Shalamayne with his bare, muscular hands and flexed his arms. The mighty elven blade then snapped and shattered under the force the orc warchief applied to it. The shards of Shalamayne fell from the orc's hands to the ground, useless.

"Foolish worm. I am more than an orc. I am more than mortal. You and your kin will bow to your new god before he mercifully destroys you." The orc growled at the human warrior on the ground.

Garrosh then strode towards the fallen king and picked him up by his neck from the ground. With his free hand he punched him again and again in the face and the threw the warrior across the square. Then he marched over to where the king lay and stomped on his bruised and bleeding back, digging his heel into the wound. He then stomped on him again and again until he heard a sickening _crack_ from the man's back.

The king's legs then went still and lifeless.

"Pathetic." Garrosh muttered.

The orc picked his rival up from the ground by his neck again and held the man's face opposite his own. He made sure the human could see the face of the man who had destroyed him.

"Stormwind dies with its king, worm, and with you the Alliance." Garrosh spat in his face and then squeezed hard with his hand. He watched as the life drained from the human's eyes.

Varian's eyes saw only the ugly orc in front of him as pain shot through his body. Then the pain began to subside as the orc's face faded and a golden light filled his vision. In front of him, a beautiful woman with long golden hair beckoned to him to come to her.

"Varian!" She called to him, welcoming him into her arms.

"Tiffin." Varian spoke, the last word on his lips the name of his beloved queen, and the mother of his son.

Then Varian let go and followed his beloved wife into the Holy Light.

The warchief then opened his hand, and Varian's lifeless body fell to the ground, his neck broken and smashed, his lifeblood splattered over the paving stones of Cathedral Square.

"So I will do to all of them." The orc said, wiping the human's blood from his hand on his trousers.

The orc then turned to join his troops at the battle for the gates of the harbor. He had the rest of these fools to destroy.

 _COLD!_

From the sides of the square, blue flashes of light screamed towards him and slammed into the orc, encasing him in solid ice. Again and again, it hit him stunning him and freezing him in place. To his sides, robed humans emerged from the shadows.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

The team of reborn mages had hours to wait in Stormwind. After passing through the gates of the great city, they found themselves somewhat at a loss as to where to go next. Not knowing from what direction the attack by the Horde would come, and not knowing the layout of the Alliance capital they did not know where to position themselves.

As a city, Stormwind was larger in size, much larger than the northern capital of Lordaeron. Its winding neighborhoods and distinct quarters separated by the canal system stretched on and on in their eyes and was disorienting at first.

"You're from Dalaran, I see. First time to Stormwind?" A nearby guard, noting the insignia on Gereth's robes and seeing their confusion had asked Gereth as they stood in the central square of the trade district closest to the southern main gate of the city.

"What? Oh… er, yes, I mean, no, but it has been some time." He lied, playing the befuddled magician as well as he could. It was a stereotype that tended to persist and, though he didn't have the white hair or wrinkles that might justify it, it was all he had for the moment.

The guard smiled in a friendly fashion, "Maybe I can help? Where are you trying to reach?"

Thinking quickly, he realized the partial truth of the immediate moment would suit them best, "Well, we've been traveling the hard way for quite some time. I don't know how non magic users do it, walking everywhere and riding on the backs of those animals… er, Gryphons. Right now what we need is someplace a mage can sit down and have a drink to take the edge off the whole nasty experience. Is that possible?"

Amused, the guard had pointed them in the direction of the Mage's Quarter, and the tavern that lay near the central tower of the district, "The Blue Recluse", which proved to be empty that afternoon as they found their way to it and ordered drinks.

There they waited, watching the mystic lights of the tavern that danced over their heads, resting and nursing their drinks until they heard the explosions coming from the northwest, and knew that their chance to act had come. Like much of the city, they had quickly left their seats and rushed outside to see what direction the commotion was coming from. Then, pulling their cowls over their heads, they began to work their way past the rushing and panicked people around them, circumventing guards trying to protect them by vanishing in front of them only to reappear twenty or thirty feet behind the checkpoints which had been established to the bewilderment of the overwhelmed constables. Using their magic, they became ghosts as they drew closer and closer to the fierce fighting which was taking place.

And then they had seen the warchief. He had barreled through the helpless Alliance soldiers as though they were only tin toys a blacksmith might forge for his children, leaving corpses and pieces of flesh lying in pools of red human blood in his wake. They observed the unimaginable power the warchief wielded as he commanded the very stars themselves it seemed to rain down destruction on their most recent refuge. Any illusions any of them might have had were then dispelled as to how easy the task would be. They had to catch him unawares and retrieve the relic quickly.

Their problem had been how to isolate and distract the orc in such a way to where they could stun him and perform the extraction without any witnesses. No one in Stormwind needed to know of the relic or what happened to it. Once that had been done, they would leave the warchief to the gentle caresses of the blades of the Stormwind defenders.

And then Gereth had heard the challenge by the king of Stormwind to his opponent and knew that fortune had been with them. He signaled to his colleagues to make their way to the Cathedral Square where they had just hidden themselves among the shadows of the buildings and inside empty doorways to wait for their time to strike.

The warchief appeared only minutes later and the two rulers stripped down to their breeches as they fought man to man in an attempt to kill each other. Gereth knew the king's bid was a useless gesture. He had a very good idea of the energies that now flowed through the orc empowering him and replenishing any strength or stamina he might have lost once upon a time. The warchief was a killing machine unstoppable by any conventional means.

Still, the mage became angry, and even grieved as he watched the orc pummel the human warrior, especially since he could do nothing about it until the time was right for his people to strike. They would only have one shot.

Then that time came as the king made one more heroic strike and plunged his blade deep into Garrosh's chest. Gereth had then signaled to his men to take positions and be ready as the warchief went to his knees and the king lay on the ground half dead himself from the exertion of the fight. And then he missed his moment as he watched in horror the warchief pull the blade from his impaled body and snap it into pieces as though the elven forged enchanted blade were merely a dry twig. Stunned himself for several seconds, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the unfolding scene of Varian Wrynn's death.

It was when the king's body had hit the ground that he finally pulled himself out of it and ordered the strike.

Calling forth the ice magics his team of mages began to stun the warchief in sequence from the shadows of the buildings around Cathedral square as they had discussed. It took a few seconds to cast the incantation and so they would alternate, two would cast, and then while they were incanting, two more would begin, and so on. They would keep up the freezing spells that way until they were exhausted to ensure that Garrosh could not move or speak his own spells. A shaman's control of elemental water and freezing magic might have been more effective, but they would have to work with what they were capable of.

The warchief stood frozen near the base of the orphanage building, next to the fallen human king, not far from where Gereth waited. Before he reported to either Sylvanas or Jaina, and in between his shifts at playing the discreet orc guard, he had returned to his library in Dalaran to research any and all extraction spells that his former master Duazhen might have come across, especially for a relic of this kind of power. Having found one in the blood elf's most recent journal before his death (Gereth had a good idea now as to who the elf had intended to use it on), he studied and memorized every incantation, focal point, and motion of the hands the magic required. It was actually not a very complicated piece of magic, but it required a great amount of focus and expenditure of energy. It would drain him and the extra mana crystals he had brought to perform it.

With Garrosh encased in ice on the paving stones near the bottom of the orphanages' steps, Gereth quickly moved in close and struck him with the extraction spell. Bolts of bluish white arcane energies penetrated the ice and struck the warchief. Arcs of powerful magics ran around and through the ice like electric currents.

The three triangle mark on his own hand burned with a golden white light as it lent its own subtle magics to the spell, clearing his mind and increasing his concentration. He could feel the call of the one piece of the Golden Flame to the other as he continued to chant the words of the spell, channeling every ounce of magical energy to which he had access to tear the Triforce of Power away from its bearer. Slowly, slowly the otherworldly triangle began to work its way free from the warrior orc still encased in the ice.

And then a massive explosion rocked the city, and Gereth's concentration was broken as he and his team of mages were knocked off their feet and thrown by the force of the quake that resulted onto the cobblestone pavement of Cathedral Square.

Within seconds, he heard the sound of their failure confirmed as the ice which had encased the warchief shattered, and the orc cried out in a furious rage.

The fires of Stormwind spread across the city, jumping from row house to row house, and rooftop to rooftop. The heat of the flames began to create its own air currents as newly formed fiery vortices took the destruction of the city to new levels of devastation.

Eventually the fires reached the royal armory near Stormwind Keep and the high yield, gnomish seaforium explosives and artillery gunpowder that had been stored there and were being prepared to move by transport. They had been sitting in the yard of the barracks waiting to be taken to the troop transport ships that were intended for the invasion of Durotar.

 _BOOM!_

The sound of the explosion was heard throughout the city and beyond into Elwynn Forest and shattered what remaining glass there might have been. In the distance, the residents of Goldshire watched as a huge mushroom cloud erupted from the direction of the city to the north.

The force of the explosion ripped into the stonework of the barracks vaporizing white stones and blue tiled rooftops. The wave of explosive force moved outwards. Stormwind Keep itself collapsed as though it were a pile of sand being swept away like a broom, and what remained of the burning trade districts and the oldest parts of the city were completely leveled.

The waves of force spent the last of their fury on the thick walls of Cathedral Square, peppering them with debris until they too buckled and sections of them collapsed inwards. When it was over, all that remained of the southeastern corner of the city was a smoking crater and melted stone debris.

Bodies of orcs, humans, tauren and other races of Azeroth alike, regardless of their political factions, littered the cracked and buckled streets from the blast. Some moved minimally and in pain, most did not move at all.

After the blast, and their mission of evacuating the remaining Stormwind defenders accomplished, a golden and azure queen blew a Sindorei battle horn, signaling for her remaining forces to retreat back to the relative safety of the harbor and their ships which protected it. Light elven rangers and heavily plated death knights alike leaped onto the backs of the war gryphons that had been fighting side by side with them, and took off.

Sylvanas Windrunner herself was the last to flee as she stayed, sitting on the back of her own gryphon to observe the aftermath. _How many Horde troops survived the blast?_ Her ranger general's mind asked. She had to know.

Soon, she had her answer as orcs began to pick themselves up, bloodied but not broken. They were joined by the hardy and solid, horned tauren warriors as they dizzily pulled themselves to their hoofed feet.

 _Too many._ She realized as she nudged her gryphon to leap into the sky. _Too many to end it here._

She flew over the remaining walls of the city and soared down towards the harbor that was now almost completely empty of people. Only a few remaining priests and constables remained trying to round up the last of the frightened people.

One child, a human girl that could only be two or three years old at most remained on the high stone staircase above the harbor by herself, apparently separated from her family or guardians. She stood awash in panicked tears crying out for her mother in the common tongue clutching a ragged stuffed doll.

The queen directed her gryphon to dive for the girl. She dropped like a stone until just above the stairs where the Gryphon landed hard next to the child, frightening her even more. The queen dismounted quickly, reaching out her hand for the child.

"Come, girl, quickly!" Sylvanas ordered, still using the voice she would to command her troops.

The girl screamed in fear and backed away from the elf woman towards the edge of the staircase that had no rails. The girl's heel caught empty air and she began to tumble backwards.

"No!" Sylvanas cried out as she quickly lunged for the girl with her inhuman elven reflexes and speed and snatched her from what would have been a certain plunge at least five stories to her death. She held the terrified girl close to her breast in one arm as she climbed back on her Gryphon and ordered it off the steps and back into the air.

"Where is your mother, child?" The queen asked the girl, just a little more gently, as she flew towards the harbor docks where the last of the women and children were boarding the transports.

The girl, her shoulder length dark human hair matted with snot, and her face dirty from the ash mixing with her tears, sobbing on the queen's shoulder, looked up and back towards the burning city and pointed with her tiny, slender hand towards the residential neighborhoods that were in flames, "M-Mama's there."

Wordlessly, Sylvanas then pulled her Gryphon up and, leaving the docks behind, she made for her own flagship, a single tear falling from her eye and spilling down her flawless light elven skin as she carried the girl in her arm. She flew on over the dark waters of the harbor under the stars obscured by the smoke from the burning city.

The orc warchief reacted fast and without mercy as balls of hot flame shot towards the stunned mages, enveloping them while they struggled to get to their feet. Retrieving his massive war axe, Gorehowl, he moved faster than any of them could react as he cut down the first mage he saw rise to his feet, the poor man's torso severed cleanly from his legs. Two more nearby fell to the deadly arcs of the axe blade as Garrosh lunged for them.

Gereth got to his feet and, without thought, began to call forth what magic he had left, channeling bolts of raw arcane power to strike the warchief from the side and distract him from his intended kills. The Triforce of Wisdom blazed as he called on the energies of the ley lines that ran and crossed through the city.

The bolts of power slammed into the orc warchief painfully as blackened burn marks erupted on his greenish brown skin.

Gereth called out as the spell ran its course, "Go! Get out of here! Report what happened!"

As the orc's attention was then focused on Gereth, the remaining few mages nodded and obeyed. They began their own lengthy incantations for teleportation, spending the last of their own magical energies in the process.

Garrosh stared at the mage in the crimson robes under the lamplights.

"I know you, mage!" He snarled. "You're that bitch's plaything!"

"That's right, warchief!" Gereth called back, keeping the massive orc's attention away from his surviving colleagues. "Come, play with me!"

Garrosh roared and charged the mage, away from his previously intended target. Almost as soon as Garrosh had reached him, bringing his axe around to cut him in two, Gereth vanished from his spot to reappear on the steps of the Cathedral. Garrosh's weapon caught nothing but air and then buried itself into the stone wall of the Orphanage.

"Come now, warchief! Don't you know the rules of the game?" Gereth taunted.

For the briefest of moments he turned his eyes to see his remaining colleagues, one by one in flashes of azure energies wink out of where they had been in time and space until the warchief and he were the only living beings left alive in Cathedral Square.

His eyes then flicked back to where the massive, muscular orc had been but found the space empty, the orc's axe still buried in the wall.

 _BAM!_

Gereth's vision went dark, and his legs crumpled beneath him. Then he saw nothing at all, but heard, as his consciousness faded, "I've become a quick study, plaything. I have use for you..."

The morning sun dawned red over the mountains to the east of the city, obscured by the heavy brown and black smoke which had filled the air above it. Fires continued to rage, feeding on the remaining fuel of the debris. The savory smell of cooked and burnt meat from the bodies which lay still filled the air and mixed with the other acrid and noxious scents which filled the air.

Garrosh stood on the empty and otherwise lifeless docks of the harbor which seemed strangely untouched by the rest of the carnage which filled the once great bastion of humanity. He inhaled the fragrance of destruction mixed with the salt of the sea as though it were a sweet perfume, but he was not wholly pleased. An unconscious human mage in crimson robes lay in chains especially enchanted for magic users at his feet.

There were no Alliance bodies on the wharf or docks, none of the thousands of corpses which would have signaled his total victory over the scum, and which should have been there. He had been given the almost unbelievable report of death knights and elven warriors joining the Stormwind defense at the eleventh hour by those of his troops that had survived it.

He had much to consider and think on as he moved his men into the next phase of their assault.

After taking a head count of his remaining troops and ordering healers to tend to the wounded that could be helped, he found that he still had almost two thousand warriors at his disposal, and nothing but farmers and their whelps to his south. His men would want to honor their comrades who fell in battle. So be it. They would rest in the smoking ruins of their greatest enemy, remember their dead, plunder what supplies were undamaged and move on to put an end to this troublesome kingdom once and for all.

The presence of the elven rangers and death knights, he realized as he looked out at the waters of the bay, could only mean one thing.

"So, Sylvanas," He said ominously into the ocean breeze, "you have chosen your side. And you will reap the whirlwind for it!"


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Sylvanas sat with her azure hood raised over her head, her elbows on her knees, and her hands steepled in front of her. Her athletic, well toned form rested in an ornate, hand carved wooden chair in her cabin on board her flagship destroyer, _Nathanos._ The ship had been named for the only human to ever make it to the rank of elven ranger lord.

He had distinguished himself bravely then just as he had all the years she had known him. He been responsible for saving the elven homeland long before the Scourge's plague took it, and had also been an intimate friend of hers once upon a time before his untimely "true" death at the battle for Dalaran. Nathanos had been caught by the demon king's seige on the city, and had bravely joined the fight when the death knights fought for its liberation. He fought side by side with the death knights against the demon king's skeletal warriors, until he became overwhelmed.

Her human friend came to Sylvanas' mind over and over as she sat there quietly. His admission to the ranger corp of Silvermoon had been derided and challenged again and again because he was human, and yet the people of her birth owed him much. Even to this day, her people still underestimated humans as a mildly "inferior" people, and yet she continued to find their internal strength and spirit anything but.

With the remaining human refugees secured safely aboard almost two dozen transport ships, her fleet of warships was in the process of escorting them north and away from their would be executioners. She had already sent word ahead to have food, medicine, and whatever other supplies could be spared to the rebuilt docks at Southshore. Not all of the buildings had been restored there, but it was the closest port under her control. From there her people could begin figure out what to do with all of them. She had no head count, but she knew each transport ship could hold up to three hundred passengers. She had, at the minimum, six thousand frightened humans, mostly women and children, with nowhere to go to tend to when they reached port. This didn't include the thousands more that escaped through the portals to Lordaeron and Silvermoon directly. She had already given orders to see to their welfare.

The little girl whose name she still didn't know slept fitfully on her own silken bed. She had clung to Sylvanas and refused to be put down when the queen reached her flagship. And when she set foot on the deck, she had neither the time nor the inclination to fight with the child to release her. She had given the orders for the fleet to make sail at once with the sobbing girl in her arms, receiving strange surprised looks from her soldiers and sailors in the process. The child had cried herself to sleep on the queen's shoulder as Sylvanas gave the orders.

The elf woman had brought her into her own cabin and laid her down gently on her bed and then sat in the chair, watching her as she slept, contemplating the consequences of the actions she had taken. For whatever reason, she found she couldn't just leave the girl with someone else. Somehow, unasked and unlooked for, this dirty, snot filled, common orphan human girl had become her personal responsibility.

 _As ha_ _ve_ _all of Stormwind's remaining children_ , she thought to herself. The overwhelming majority of those children were human like the girl who slept in front of her. They were human like Nathanos had been, once upon a time.

A quiet knock came at the door to her quarters.

"Enter." She said loud enough for the person who knocked to hear, but not loud enough to wake the girl.

The door creaked open, and Arete stepped in to her cabin, carefully closing the door behind him.

"All ships are accounted for, and there is no sign of pursuit, your majesty." The death knight reported. "It appears, against all odds, we made a clean getaway. Some deity somewhere must have smiled on us."

Sylvanas nodded, but said nothing.

"She sleeps?" He asked, his tone becoming more personal.

"Yes. The girl sobbed herself into exhaustion." Sylvanas replied.

He nodded slowly, "We can look for her family once we reach Southshore." He said, moving closer to stand beside the elven monarch's chair.

"Her mother is dead. She was left alone on the steps of the harbor. She would have died had I not seen her in time." The queen told him, remembering the girl's words, _Mama's there_. "There is no one to look for, my love. No one to care for her. She is my responsibility now… as they all are."

Arete paused as he tried to understand what she was saying. "There will be many like her in Southshore; many orphan children we will have to find caregivers for."

"They are all our children now, aren't they, Arete?" She asked him, pensive. "I only meant to save lives, but in so doing we now must feed and clothe them all." Pausing, she then asked, "Did I do the right thing, Arete? Did I do the right thing for our people by rescuing theirs? They abandoned us, hunted us, tried to steal our lands, and even cursed our names. Is this the justice that we sought?"

Arete searched his own heart for the answer to her question. He had heard the same question being tossed around by his men out of the queen's earshot, and had wondered it himself. But looking at the sleeping form of the barely weaned child, the hardened military man's resentment couldn't justify sacrificing her to their collective anger at the south.

"It isn't the justice that we sought, my queen, but maybe it is the justice that we all needed." Arete spoke his thoughts aloud. "Stormwind burns, but we rescue its children. Lordaeron's and Stormwind's futures are now inseparable. Stormwind's people always paraded themselves as righteous and holy while condemning our own as unholy monsters after the Scourge. In this action you have proven them wrong, and taken the moral high ground in a way they never did for us. Perhaps compassion on them is the best revenge we can take."

Sylvanas looked up at him and smiled at that, her green tinted eyes shining at his words. She took his hand in her own and said to him, "Then we will make our final revenge on them count by seeing that as many thrive under our protection and rule as possible. We needed children, and now we have them. Lordaeron will grow, and Stormwind will survive through them."

"What will you do with this girl, my queen?" Arete asked again.

"I told you." She responded, looking back towards the dark haired child. "She is my responsibility now. She will stay with me."

Orgrimmar felt empty as Shaggara and Guozhi stepped out of the portal and into the Valley of Strength, the city center of the orc capital. Their eyes took some time to adjust as they stepped from the ovoid of magical energies into a void of darkness, only lit by large burning braziers positioned at various locations throughout the city. Overhead, the stars shone brightly and only for the darkness of the city could a humble blue circle be seen without its large and overbearing sister.

It had been the middle of the day just the few seconds before when they had stepped through the mage's portal on the second floor of the Horde embassy. There had been four mage's portals available when they entered the chamber reserved for such magical transportation.

"There were six such magical doorways when last I was here, honorable Shaggara." Guozhi had made note.

"Politics in the rest of the world have changed since your last visit." Shaggara had responded, to which the Pandaran monk had replied, "How sad that such changes should close doors and not open them."

As Shaggara's eyes became used to the low light, she looked this way and that to see exactly where they were. She recognized the shadowy outline of Grommash Hold not far from where they stood and as she turned around, the massive, fortified main gates of the city behind them lit by the flames of the braziers.

Having gotten her bearings, she looked for a particular building which, like the rest of the city, had been rebuilt after the fires of Deathwing's cataclysm with the dark, menacing metal and stone reminiscent of the hellish remains of their homeworld of Draenor known as Outland. Turning to the direction she knew to be east, she spotted it.

"Come, my friend." She told the Pandaran as she turned back to him. "The Broken Tusk is this way. It will be safe there."

But the Pandaran had not moved. Instead he looked as though he were still observing his surroundings in detail. He then knelt down and touched the ground with his furry, paw like palm. The expression on his bear like face was solemn and serious as he did so. Finally, he stood up, closed his eyes, shook his head as though in disbelief, and sighed sadly.

When the monk spoke, his voice was low and pained. "Now I understand what drew the shas to the surface of my land when your people came, and why so many seek to escape this place. I feel the presence of much hatred, anger, and pride in the place, honorable Shaggara. Your people invite evil spirits they cannot control." He told her. "It is only a matter of time before they manifest here as they have done in Pandaria. I am surprised they have not already."

Shaggara did not disagree. There had been many reasons why she chose to retire away from Orgrimmar, and had rarely returned to it before.

"They have already, just not so visibly." She responded, keeping her eyes alert and open for movement around the main gate. "It was not always like this. Come, we must seek shelter for the night out of the sight of the Kor'kron guards."

"Then perhaps there is still hope for redemption." Guozhi said as he turned to follow her.

As he walked behind her, he observed, "I see few guards and no patrols. Strange for a city such as this."

The orc woman then turned her own head and eyes as she walked. The city had felt almost too quiet when they arrived she had thought, and as she paid more attention she saw that her friend was correct. The last time she had been here with Zelda, the elite Kor'kron guards, fiercely loyal to the warchief, seemed like they were everywhere, and the city was in constant motion even at night. Now, she saw virtually no one except the shadows of two, maybe three guards at the entry to Grommash Hold.

Shaggara then led him across the packed dirt entry square of the city to the building she had marked before. Her foster sister may or may not have chosen to sleep, but the Broken Tusk was always open to travelers with silver and gold to spend. The sound of the patrons pouring out their money on Morag the bartender's brews and liquors throughout the night was a regular part of the background noise of Orgrimmar's night life.

But as they approached the open doors of the still lit inn, it was eerily quiet as Shaggara crossed the threshold. The change was so out of the ordinary that her battle instincts kicked in and she began listening for every tiny sound and feeling and smelling every change in the air currents around her.

They entered into the circular main room of the inn. All was as Shaggara remembered it. Weapons obtained as trophies decorated the walls. A low table with a small burner sat in the center of the room. The back wall opposite the doorway was still filled from floor to ceiling with multicolored bottles of liquor of various potencies. Morag, the orc barkeep stood behind the bar cleaning and polishing what few mugs and steins needed it.

But the inn was empty of patrons.

Even Gamon, the tauren warrior and veteran of the third war whom Shaggara knew to be a regular, if somewhat less than savory fixture in her foster sister's inn was nowhere to be seen. Often the butt of jokes and abuse, and one time in the employ of a worthless troll named Tazan, Gryshka tolerated him and his unpayable tab on her bar and the hammocks she kept upstairs because she knew the things he had witnessed during that war. The Burning Legion could be a horrific and cruel enemy. Gryshka would never admit to it, but Shaggara knew that the tauren would always have a place by her foster sister's fire.

The Pandaren stepped into the inn behind her, visibly more relaxed than she, but still wary.

Morag looked up from his cups to see the newcomers and grunted as he appraised them. He spent considerable time looking at the orc warrior woman, apparently younger than him by at almost two decades. He squinted his already small, reddish eyes as though trying to place her face, and then it hit him as a look of surprise and familiarity broke over his emerald, gorilla-like tusked face.

"Shaggara?" He asked in a tone of disbelief as he came out from behind the bar to greet her. "Is that you?"

"Yes, Morag of course it's me. Why wouldn't it be?" She questioned, wondering if the orc's eyes had gotten worse since the last time she had been in the common room of the inn. He too had been another of Gryshka's "strays" that came to the Broken Tusk long ago and never left.

"But…" He began. "You look young like a new recruit! Was it some magic your mage friend cooked up?" He asked in a more friendly, welcoming manner. "I didn't know magic users could do that!"

Shaggara had forgotten her new youthfulness which had occurred at the same time as her mate's rebirth. She had seen over five decades of life and her body now showed less than half of that life's journey.

"Yes," she then replied, leaving out the finer details of her rejuvenation. "It was something like that. Where is everyone?" She then asked, changing the subject. "I don't even see Gamon."

Morag sighed with frustration. "He is gone," he said, "with virtually every able bodied warrior in the city since dawn this morning. Only Gryshka and I here in the Broken Tusk, and a few of the other shopkeepers and those either too old, too young, or too injured to fight. The warchief called up everyone that could fight, even most of the Kor'kron, to gather inland in the plains near the port."

"What?" Shaggara asked. "Fight where? What would need so many warriors?"

She knew the possibilities. Ashenvale was still hotly contested with the Night Elves, and the remaining forces from Theramore continued to hold the southern half of the Barrens and Dustwallow Marsh. Garrosh was enough of a reckless fool that he might leave Orgrimmar practically undefended in order to drive the elves from the northern forest or finish his extermination of…

"Stormwind City." Morag told her.

"What?!" She almost shouted in incredulity, breaking the quiet stillness of the inn's common room. "That's insane! It would take ten times as many warriors as the Horde could muster and weeks of laying seige on both the land and the harbor. He leads our people to their deaths for… for what?"

Then a mature, orc woman's voice replied with gravity as her foster sister stepped out from behind the heavy curtains that separated her private rooms from the rest of the inn. "No, my sister. We heard word back from the battle just after sunset."

"Word? What word?" Shaggara asked, wanting to know into what fresh madness Garrosh Hellscream had led her people.

"Stormwind has fallen." Gryshka told her. "Its king is dead, as are its people."

"That's..." Shaggara had no words as she stood stunned. There was a day, once upon a time, when she might have rejoiced to hear those words. But since the events which led up to the rebirth, and the human soldier she had briefly known who had given his life to save hers and her mate's, her attitude had been altered.

"The warchief marches on the rest of the human provinces soon." Gryshka continued.

"You are certain?" The orc woman asked, still not believing what she heard.

"We both heard it from the Kor'krons who came in to celebrate just after sunset." Morag replied, his use of the word "Kor'krons" more suited to a slur or an insult.

Shaggara did not ask how it happened. She was not that dense as she briefly glanced at the back of her left hand. She knew firsthand of what feats a bearer of the Triforce of Power was capable.

"Come sister," Gryshka said, noting the stunned, but knowing expression on her foster sister's face. She gestured, inviting her, "The last I heard you were in Dalaran with Gereth, and yet now you travel with a Pandaran. You and your friend must be tired from traveling, and at such an hour of the morning. Let Morag fix all of us some food, and you can tell me what brings you back to Orgrimmar in such days as these."

When Shaggara did not answer, Guozhi replied for them both with a slight bow, "That would be most welcome, honorable Gryshka. We have traveled very far indeed."

Gryshka watched Shaggara with concern. There were few if any secrets one could hide from the other between the two women, though they both held each other's close to the heart.

"Yes, you must tell me what could possibly draw you back here." She repeated, looking into Shaggara's eyes and seeing much as she gently guided her "younger" foster sister and her companion back to her own set of rooms.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

The human mage wore a dark azure robe with the golden lion insignia of Stormwind on his chest that evening as he made his way through the Shrine of Seven Stars. He had a light complexion and short cut dark hair with flecks of gray highlights and a short cropped beard to match. He had never been to the Alliance embassy in Pandaria before that day, and, truth be told, had never expected to either.

It was clear to him from the design of the site that the shrine had originally been meant for religious use as a place of reflection and meditation as he wondered its halls. Though now, it resembled more of a marketplace for the various races of the Alliance that chose to pass to and from the southernmost continent of Azeroth. There were vendor stalls set up on one wing of the lower floor for every trade one might imagine, and the other had been converted into a makeshift inn for travelers, though admittedly more elegant than the taverns one might see in the northern realms. In truth, it seemed that only the dimly lit main hall of the Shrine which was dominated by a golden statue to some Pandaren deity he didn't know retained the semblance of solemnity which one might expect.

It had taken the mage the better part of a day to travel to the Shrine on foot across the Vale of Eternal Blossoms to begin his mission. He had teleported first to a site near the sister structure on the north side of the valley, the Shrine of Two Moons, because this was the closest he could come from his previous memories of Pandaria. He had to be careful though not to materialize where the other denizens of the Horde embassy would see him. They would most certainly not take kindly to a human showing up in the middle of their own refuge and wearing the colors of their enemy.

From the conversations the mage overheard as he passed through the Alliance embassy, the news of Stormwind's demise hadn't reached them yet. This wasn't unexpected. His queen had still been aboard her flagship in transit to Southshore with the Alliance capital's refugees when he received the orders for his mission.

Having combed through the busy lower levels of the Shrine, he then took the stairs from the euphemistically named Golden Lantern inn upwards to the second floor which opened up into a kind of library. In sharp contrast to the business of the lower floor, several people of various races knelt around the room on mats in meditative positions. Others sat in silence looking over scrolls or attempting to read books written in the unintelligible Pandaren script.

One such person, a young human man of no more than eighteen years with long blond hair tied back into a practical ponytail and strong, handsome features sat with a notebook and pen, jotting down words in common as he read the difficult Pandaren ideographic text haltingly in a whispered voice. The young man wore a plain white shirt of silk with his sleeves rolled up, and royal blue trousers trimmed with gold. His boots were obviously of rich, fine leather though it had been equally obvious that they were scuffed and their owner did not seem to value their fine quality as much as their utility. Next to him a long blue coat with gold trim and the royal sigils of the Stormwind monarchy embroidered into it lay neatly folded.

The mage came to stand next to this young man as he wrote. The teenager concentrated so on his work that he did not appear to notice the mage studying his face to be sure of his identity, but there could be little doubt. The mage had never seen the son, but he knew Varian Wrynn's face from portraits and images of him. This young man's features were unmistakably sired by the former king of Stormwind.

"Your highness?" The mage asked in a low voice so as not to attract unwanted attention. His northern accent would give him away should he engage in too much conversation.

The young man then looked up from his writing in an amiable, friendly way. "Yes?"

"I hope I'm not disturbing you from something important, your highness, but I carry urgent news and a package for you." The mage told him. "Perhaps we can go someplace more private?"

The young man looked into the mage's face as though studying it. The mage took note of the man's eyes. They were studious, serious, and contemplative.

"Yes, of course. I was just finishing up my translation of this work. There is a great amount of wisdom to be found in the writings of the Pandaren sages." Anduin Wrynn replied as he put a cork into his small bottle of ink and cleaned the nib of his pen. He blew gently and careful on his notebook to speed the drying of the ink, and when he was satisfied, he closed the book and replaced his writing pen and ink into a wooden case which sat nearby.

"So I have heard." The mage responded without irony. While religious and philosophical works were not his area of expertise, he could appreciate the efforts of a fellow scholar of any discipline.

The prince stood up and, picking up his coat and supplies gestured towards the stairs. "There is more privacy downstairs behind one of the paper screens of the Golden Lantern."

"Of course, your highness." The mage replied as he followed the fallen city's crown prince back downstairs.

They came out at the bottom and discreetly slipped behind one of the paper and wood partitions that separated the "rooms" of the makeshift Pandaren inn.

When the screen had been pulled closed, the mage took a sealed letter and a familiar small white stone with a blue spiral rune in the center of it. He handed the prince the letter first.

The prince studied the familiar, though puzzling red wax seal on the letter. He knew it well having seen it many times in history books and on old documents and records of the fallen kingdom of Lordaeron. He then looked up at the human mage, glancing at him again quickly before his eyes came back to the red wax seal.

"Why would Lordaeron be seeking to send me a message?" He questioned. "It would be more fit to send it to my father."

"Please your highness, as I said, it is quite urgent." The mage told him again.

The prince nodded and then broke the seal. He read through the letter quickly but carefully.

It read:

 _To Your Royal Highness, Anduin Wrynn, Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Stormwind and Rightful Heir to the Throne._

 _I have sent my messenger to inform you that Stormwind had fallen to a Horde invasion led by Garrosh Hellscream. We had no part in it. Our people have evacuated as many of Stormwind's citizens as we could to our own lands in Lordaeron by transport ship and by portal. Your father fell during the attack and is dead. You have my condolences. You are now the rightful king of that kingdom should it ever be retaken for your surviving people._

 _I extend to you every hospitality and safe refuge as befitting your station. The hearthstone my emissary carries will bring you directly to the City of Lordaeron where I will join you shortly._

 _Sylvanas Windrunner, Queen of the United Kingdom of Lordaeron and Quel'Thalas._

The prince read the short message through several times trying to make sense of it. Emotions of disbelief, anger, and extreme sorrow passed over his handsome features and he visibly fought back tears.

"When?" He finally asked, his voice cracking.

"Her majesty gave orders for my mission less than twelve hours ago. I was led to believe our fleet was en route from Stormwind to Southshore at the time. From what I understand, the city was almost completely destroyed by that point in time." The mage responded respectfully. He then handed the prince the white and blue stone, pressing it into his palm. "I understand you know how to use this?"

"Why the hearthstone?" Anduin asked. He knew as well as the mage that the man could have opened a portal for the both of them.

The mage replied, "Her majesty didn't want it to appear that anyone had kidnapped you. Her orders made it clear that it had to appear to be your choice. She wanted you to have time to decide and inform whomever you needed."

The prince nodded. It was as polite and proper a protocol for such an event as could be expected given the circumstances. It was possible not even Ironforge was aware yet of what had happened, had they been, the dwarves with whom he had a special relationship would have been the first to come for him.

"Whatever you decide, your highness, my mission here is done. I'll leave you to it." The mage told him.

"What is your name?" The prince asked as the mage turned to go.

"John Rendall, your highness." The mage responded. "Of Stratholme."

The prince then straightened himself up and said, "Thank you, John Rendall, for taking the risk to bring this to me. Tell your queen, I send my gratitude to her as well, and I will meet with her shortly. I have my own messages now to send. The rest of the Alliance must be informed if they have not yet been already."

"Of course, your highness, and you are welcome." The mage replied, a little surprised by the prince's gracious words.

It wasn't long ago that John Rendall of Stratholme wouldn't have given a second thought to the man's feelings, having few of his own except for grief, anger, and pain. But he found his heart beginning to ache for the prince who had lost everything he held dear in a single blow. He remembered what it had been like decades ago when he watched his own home town fall to the Scourge, losing his own life to them only to be reborn their slave.

Feeling like he should say something more, he told him, "If there's anything more I can do for you, your highness..."

"No." Anduin quickly but appreciatively responded, trying to smile. "You may be in danger if you are caught here, and the other nobles and Alliance leaders that are here will not be so ready to believe your or your queen's purpose or motives are honorable." Anduin told him.

John Rendall knew the truth of his statement, but it begged the question, "If I may ask your highness, why are you?"

Anduin replied, "Because I have learned through hard experience that not all of the monsters we are told about in our youth are truly monsters. More often then not they are just people like us just trying to do the best they can with the hand they've been dealt. Your people have been dealt the worst hand in all of Azeroth's history, and only recently have the odds been turning in your favor. Your queen could have used her plague weapons on Stormwind at any time and yet she didn't. Instead, my father wrote to me that she used them as leverage to ensure a peace between us. This isn't the action of a monster, and neither are these the words of one. I would meet with one such as this queen."

Surprised again by the young prince's words, all the mage could respond with was, "Thank you, your highness. I will deliver your response myself."

And then, a few seconds later, he vanished in a flash of blue light, leaving Anduin alone with his grief and the decisions he had to make.

Shaggara and Guozhi walked the long curving road of the Drag section of Orgrimmar. Like the rest of the city, it felt empty except for the few shopkeepers, and Matron Battlewail's orphanage. The orc woman would have wanted to visit her foster mother and the children she looked after except that she knew if she did that she wouldn't leave for several hours, and there was an urgency about her mission that wouldn't permit it.

She could feel something was wrong with her mate. Whether it was a mutual link from the pieces of the Golden Flame they both bore, or her own instincts as his mate and lover, the prescient feeling would not leave her.

The Pandaren monk's face took in the scenes around him with a grave expression on his face that did not leave. She had rarely seen him so serious or disturbed as as he was walking the streets of the orc capital, staff in hand. His mood had seemed to only grow more serious the more he had heard from Gryshka and Morag in the Broken Tusk that morning.

They came up to a high building with a bulbous off white base and red tiled roof along the northeastern canyon wall. It seemed no different that most of them that had had been built in the Drag except for its height. The door at the base stood half open. No fires burned within to light the entry chamber.

Shaggara looked around them to see if anyone, guards in particular, were paying undue attention to their activities. Satisfied that they weren't, she and Guozhi opened the door further, allowing more of what natural sunlight there was in the Drag to seep into the building. They then slipped into the empty building.

Inside, tables had been turned over. The smashed remains of alchemist's vials and equipment lay across the floor. Dried stains from potions of a rainbow of colors were splattered across the stones.

"It looks like the old alchemy teacher didn't fare as well as he had hoped." Shaggara observed. "This was his home and workshop. Gereth rented a room from him in the floors above at one time."

Guozhi looked around the room in the dim light, seeming to want to note every detail he studied it with his characteristic deliberate approach he brought to everything. He said nothing to Shaggara in response as he did so. One thing which caught his eye was a small bookshelf which had been overturned. The books within it were scattered on the floor as well, their pages deliberately torn and abused. Another were the indentations of blade marks on the wood of the sparse furniture.

"It is incredibly foolish to so disdain knowledge as to make it inaccessible to others, honorable Shaggara." He finally said. "This damage was caused by axes such as your city's guards carry."

The orc woman nodded her agreement at the sentiment and found the spiral ramp such as her people favored in lieu of stairs which led to the upper chambers. Without a word she started up the ramp, the Pandaren staying below. It wound upwards and upwards until she reached the very top chamber where it ended. The space in the opening from the ramp to the chamber shimmered with an emerald energy.

Gereth had been there and left it protected.

She then wondered if he had left it protected _from_ her or _for_ her.

Tentatively, she placed her hand against the shield of energy. It tingled for a few seconds and then allowed her to pass it through. She then pushed the rest of her way through it and into her mate's former chambers.

The room had a small window set in the opposing wall to allow some natural light, and, like Gereth's room in Silvermoon City, held a bookcase filled with works of arcane and magical knowledge, many of them written as journals by Gereth himself. A bed stood on the opposite wall of the landing from the steps, and a wooden desk with a chair stood against a wall in between them.

Shaggara studied the room. The bed had sheets and a blanket on it which were disturbed and moved as though someone had recently slept in it. On the desk, a wax candle had burned down to a stub next to an open book which held almost no dust on its pages. The chair was sitting at a slant away from the desk as though someone had recently left it.

She went to the desk and glanced at the book on it. It was a smaller volume, handwritten in a flowing script favored by the Sindorei. Thanks to her time spent trying to study such books herself in Dalaran, she was able to read it. As she did, she came to quickly realize that it was a journal from Gereth's old master, Duazhen and it recorded a spell for extracting magical relics which had integrated themselves into the possessor's body.

Suddenly, far below her, she heard the sounds of a commotion and stifled shouting. Leaving the book where it lay, she rushed downstairs to find Guozhi standing calmly in the middle of the room. At his feet were four unconscious male orcs wearing the uniform armor of the Kor'kron guard.

"They chose to attack first and question later, honorable Shaggara. Unfortunately, they are unable to ask the questions they wished at this time." The monk told her.

Shaggara gave a half smile as she said, "I doubt they would have like our answers anyway, my friend."

"I doubt that very much too." Guozhi replied. "I believe however that we should leave here now. They will not remain unconscious for long."

"Agreed." She told him, ruling out just slitting their throats with her sword. Besides it offending her honor, they were just doing what they were told. She remembered the Kor'kron had maintained the same loyalty to Thrall in obeying his orders as they did the Garrosh. "We need to get out of the city before they can report and identify you. Come, I knew where we can obtain riding wolves in the Valley of Honor."

"Did you find what you sought?" He asked her.

"Gereth was here not long ago. He left a protective shield that allowed me to pass through. I believe he meant for me alone to find what he had been reading." She responded. "Though he left no clues as to where he went after this."

"Where do we journey from here?" Guozhi asked further.

Shaggara stopped and thought for a minute. The truth was she didn't know where else to go. Her mate had been here, as her instincts told her he would be, but he could be anywhere in Azeroth by now. She couldn't get over the feeling that he was in trouble, but he had proven his resourcefulness and survivability time and again. He was working to end the problem which had been created, and, she realized, so must she.

"Gereth was studying to find a solution to all this and so must we. We need answers that I only know one place might have. I need to go back to Forest Song in Ashenvale." She told him.

The Pandaren monk looked around at the unconscious guards on the floor one more time and then nodded in agreement, following her as they left through the open door into the empty street.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

The high sun streamed through the trees and across the clearing of the ancient ruins when the orc woman and the Pandaren reached it. The last, unpleasant memories she had of this place surfaced to her mind as they rode brazenly under the entry archway from the overgrown forest road that led into it from the main highway that ran through eastern Ashenvale. It had been over a week since that terrible day, and she didn't expect that the night elves and draenei would have prioritized resuming their joint excavations and restorations under the circumstances.

Not with all of Azeroth going to war again.

This was the outcome of Garrosh's actions. It was the only outcome with the destruction of the Alliance capital. If a fourth "world war" had not been assured by the bombing of Theramore Isle, Garrosh had removed all possibility for restraint by destroying Stormwind City. The truth was, Shaggara was almost amazed that they did not meet columns of kaldorei and draenei troops marching for Orgrimmar on the roads between Ashenvale and Azshara in retribution for their fallen comrades. Garrosh had taken a huge, foolish gamble by leaving the orc capital practically undefended in order to pursue his genocidal madness.

But the roads had been surrealistically quiet and peaceful. Neither Guozhi nor she had seen either Horde or Alliance forces along it. The most life they had seen over the past day of travel had been two curious beasts that had approached them during the night when they had made camp well off the road in Azshara's hills.

There was one in particular that she noticed that had unnerved her. It was a ghostly white wolf that appeared to be watching them from a distance. It began to haunt her along the roads and through the hills shortly after they left Orgrimmar. She would only really see it out of the corner of her eye, but when she turned her head to focus on where it had been, it would vanish as though never there. She had encountered many spirits in her travels. Most of them had not been friendly. A ghost wolf though… among the tauren they were seen as spiritual guides. Among her own people's oldest traditions, they could be an omen for good or for ill.

Bringing their gray and black riding wolves into the night elf ruins of Forest Song, however, she shoved all thoughts of the ghost wolf out of her mind as she surveyed the scene. The bodies of the researchers and dig teams had all been mercifully removed, and the stakes and Horde banners taken down.

A large mound of ashes and bones had been collected off to the western side of the ruined town near the remaining intact tower, just outside its boundaries. As she nudged her wolf closer to it, she could see that they still smoked weakly. A few skulls could be seen through the ash and by the shape of them, she knew they were orc remains; the orcs she herself had slain.

But the site was completely empty otherwise.

"There's no one here." Guozhi observed.

"No. It looks as though the elves came in, cleaned up, and left again." Shaggara agreed. "But I did not expect them to do much else. There is no point now."

Shaggara then pulled her wolf up to the base of the stone arch which led up to the sealed stone slab door of the high, strangely intact white tower on the eastern side of the ruins. Guozhi watched her and did the same, sliding off of his own large gray canid mount to stand next to her.

Shaggara looked up towards the doorway and as she began to put her foot on the white stone archway, she hesitated. A flash of memory, a battle between herself and other orcs ran through her mind in an instant and then was gone. The memory evoked unimaginable pain and rage within her before it was gone and without being conscious of it, a tear fell from her eye to splash on her cheek.

It was not lost however on the Pandaren monk. "Are you well, honorable Shaggara?" He asked, looking at her face with concern.

"What?" She asked, shaken out of her feelings. "Yes, I'm fine. Let's go."

She put her green scaled boot on the ramp and forced herself to move with it, climbing the stone bridge with Guozhi behind her looking this way and that, observing everything in careful detail.

The tower stood as an anomaly on the western edge of the ruins. It alone remained undamaged after the ten thousand years of neglect and natural disaster and decay had ravaged the once thriving night elf town of Forest Song. Some bits of moss and vines attempted to climb it and make their home, but the structure had resisted all attempts to destabilize it and bring it down by the natural forces around it.

They came to stand in front of the sealed stone slab doorway. From what they could see, it appeared to be merely a facade with no cracks to suggest that there was anything behind it. The outline of the door stood just a little taller than the Pandaren and not much wider.

"There appears to be no way to go further." Guozhi remarked.

Shaggara would have agreed if she had not seen the way in with her own eyes. She called to mind her friend Zelda, and the change which had come over her when the three of them had stood in that exact same spot months ago before her world changed forever. There was a melody that Zelda had used that the door responded to. She said it had been a lullaby that she had been taught a long time ago. The door had also responded to the mark that the Hyrulian princess had carried, a similar mark to Shaggara's own.

Shaggara took the gauntlet off of her brownish green left hand and placed her palm on the cool stone. Soon, the triangle mark began to glow with a golden white light. Then, she tried to remember the simple melody, note for note. It was the same three notes, she recalled, repeated twice. As the mark of the golden flame came to shine brightly the notes of the melody came to her, and she opened her mouth and vocalized them.

The orc woman's alto singing voice took the Pandaren monk by surprise for it's clarity and richness. He secretly lamented that she did not use it more often as she sang through the melody twice. But then, from what he had seen of her people's city, it did not surprise him that she had little to sing about with such a voice.

Soon, the solid slab of stone in front of her dissolved into a shimmering field of blue energy, and Shaggara pressed her hand through it, followed by the rest of her body. Guozhi then followed after her, the energy field permitting it. Behind them, the stone slab resealed itself.

In the shadows of a ruined night elf house across from the tower, unseen by the orc or Pandaren, a ghostly white wolf sat watching the proceedings with a keen interest. When the stone slab had reformed after they had passed through, he lay down on his belly placing his muzzle between his forepaws and waited.

The wolf had tracked the two mysterious companions from the time they left the old alchemist's building and all through Azshara. He had watched as the four heavily armed Kor'kron guards had gone into the building, but only the monk and strangely armored warrior woman had come back out. Few could go toe to toe with the fanatical Kor'kron and survive, much less four.

Things were not as he had hoped they would be in his city. Garrosh's new power held the people in some kind of trance, forcing them to obey them against their better natures. He had heard whispers that his former friends and trusted advisers Vol'jin and Baine Bloodhoof had become Garrosh's unwilling generals in his new campaign of destruction, and from what he had been able to overhear, they appeared to have no say over their obedience to the madman.

He lamented the loss of Varian Wrynn and his city. It was a fate he had tried to head off, but Garrosh had acted more quickly than he believed the younger warrior would; yet another of his misjudgments about Grom Hellscream's son. The king of Stormwind and he had never been friends, but they could at least find some common ground to work with. Now, a decent man was dead and his people murdered for no good reason.

The spirits of the earth, wind, water, and fire all cried out to him the danger the power this unstable warchief posed. It was unlike anything he had experienced before with the distinct exception of Deathwing's rampage across Azeroth. The memory and scars of that cataclysm still lay fresh across both himself and the world he called now his home.

As he tracked the orc woman and the Pandaren, he noticed with his wolf's senses a distinctly un-orclike scent about her. It was the scent of the wild, the untamed forest. It was the feel he more associated with night elf or tauren druids than he would have with his own people, none of whom had taken Ysera's path that he knew of.

Some instinct within him told him that the solution to this fresh crisis lay with these too, and this strange orc warrior in particular. He didn't know why, but the spirits of earth and fire in particular were drawing him towards her as though they themselves wanted her to understand them.

He continued to watch the tower, his eyes and ears alert for any movement.

Shaggara and Guozhi emerged into a spiral stone staircase dimly lit by bluish globes of light set into small alcoves in the white stone walls. The stairs that led above them stretch far above to where they could not see the landing. The stairs which led downwards did so into a deep well where the landing lay shrouded in darkness.

But Shaggara knew what lay down at the base of the stairs, and without a word, she began to descend them. Guozhi followed her.

"It amazes me that the night elf magics could last so long as to still provide light to the stairs, honorable Shaggara." He remarked.

"The kaldorei didn't build this tower, my friend." Shaggara replied, her voice echoing off the walls of the downward spiraling stairs. "It was built by Zelda's people long before them. She once told us the story; what she called 'The Legend of Zelda.' It was about how her people had become like gods and had tried to bring life and stability to worlds like ours until one of their own turned on them. They created relics like the Golden Flame to give mortals, us, the chance to defend ourselves against him and others like him. The wars which raged on her world between that fallen god and those who carried their relic kept repeating for thousands of years as they sought to keep him contained, being unable to fully destroy him. Then an evil man, a powerful mage, gained control of just a part of the relic and gained powers nearly equal to one of those old gods. It was the same man Gereth and I helped to defeat in Dalaran months ago. He nearly destroyed all life on this world with only the power of the one piece called the Triforce of Power. It is the same piece of our relic that Garrosh now holds."

She then caught herself as she realized she had said more than she intended. But Guozhi remained silent as he considered her words. He then said in response, "This is why you wished to come here then, the answers you seek are to be found among those who first fought these battles. But they must be long dead, honorable Shaggara."

"Not as dead as one might think, my friend." Shaggara answered cryptically, though she did not elaborate.

They reached the bottom landing after a long descent and emerged through a rounded stone archway into what looked like an enormous underground arboretum. The chamber was massive as silvery moonlight played across the trees of various sizes and the white stone of the stairwell gave way to rich soft loam dotted here and there with grasses and foliage growing lazily across the scene. In the distance at opposite ends to the right and left of them were the faint rectangular outlines of doorways marked with a dimly lit blue energy. Towards the opposite end of the arboretum was another doorway raised up and led to by more white stone steps.

Shaggara remembered it well. The sense of hesitation and even fear began to grip her again as she placed one foot on the soft ground. More flashes of memory ran across her conscious mind; a human man binding her wounds, her kinsmen falling beneath her axes, a child's name, "Roland."

"Who is 'Roland', honorable Shaggara?" Guozhi asked.

The orc woman didn't realize she had spoken the name aloud. "He was… someone I knew long ago."

"This name sounds human. I did not know you were acquainted with many humans long ago." He told her.

"Neither did I." She whispered in response as she watched the trees, keeping her eyes on them, knowing them to be more than they appeared.

She progressed across the arboretum floor, always keeping her eyes on the trees. She could feel the life force flowing through them. Beginning with their entry into the wilds of Azshara and then upon entering Ashenvale, the flood of energies and sensory information began to return to her as she had experienced it before. Every insect, every beast, every green and growing thing was known to her as they all lent their natural life and energy to her own, her body absorbing it greedily. She instinctually knew the trees in the arboretum were no longer sleeping, but watching the new intruders into their domain carefully. But they did not respond or react as they had before, months ago.

Her left hand burned as the triangle symbol on it glowed brightly in the dim, supernatural moonlight. The fears which had risen within her, while not disappearing, became dominated by her sense of purpose and resolve. She could not, would not let them stop her from finding a way to end Garrosh's insanity no mattered how hard they fought against her.

They walked on slowly and carefully through the gnarled and untamed trees, following a twisted winding path through them. The path carried them to the middle of the arboretum where a great, giant tree stood. It appeared to have two trunks which had merged into one massive body. Two huge branches reached up to the ceiling as though arms reaching for the stars. The path ended at the ancient, enormous tree covered in moss and foliage. Smaller such trees formed an impassible wall alongside it that would not permit them to continue.

"There appears to be no way through." Guozhi said.

But Shaggara could feel the curiosity of the old tree in front of them at the two visitors, one of whom it recognized.

"We seek to pass through." Shaggara finally said out loud, apparently speaking to the ancient tree in front of them. "There are answers we must obtain."

Then a loud sound like the cracking of wood was heard as the ancient tree began to move. Its great twin branches came down like arms at its sides, and twin knots in the wood of the huge gnarled knob in between them suddenly opened to reveal eyes that glowed with a silvery light. A gaping hole cracked open as it began to answer.

"I recognize you." The tree responded, its voice aged, deliberate and deep. "It was only a short time ago you came with the Zelda and were tested. You do not feel now as you did then. You feel now as though you belong among us."

Shaggara raised her left hand and turned it around to show the ancient tree the mark of the Triforce of Courage which she bore. "I carry a piece of the Golden Flame, and the blessing of Ysera herself." She said, gesturing with her other hand at her green dragonscale armor. "Allow us to pass."

The tree the turned its eyes towards the Pandaren monk who stood calmly observing the scene. Guozhi then pressed his palms together, closed his eyes and bowed towards the ancient guardian. "I greet you, honorable ancient one." The Pandaren said respectfully.

"I have not seen one of your kind in a long, long time, Pandaren. I was but a sapling when your people roamed this land alongside the children of Elune. You have a spirit of harmony about you that is untainted and clean, I feel. You are welcome among us." The ancient guardian told him.

Guozhi bowed respectfully again. "And I am grateful, honorable ancient one."

The tree then turned back to Shaggara. "You may pass, bearer of the Flame of Courage, but your companion must remain here. Among mortals, only the bearers of the Flame may enter this sanctuary. No harm will befall him. I would like to hear more about his people and what has happened among them since last I saw them."

Shaggara then looked to Guozhi with some alarm, but his face appeared calm and serene. "It will be my honor, ancient one." Guozhi said in reply. He then faced Shaggara and said, "Go. I do not sense any hostility from them. We will enjoy a good conversation, I think." The Pandaren smiled at her and then said wistfully, "If only we had some tea..."

"I will return for you as soon as I can." Shaggara told him.

She then left her Pandaren friend where he was and the trees next to the great ancient one began to part, opening up to allow her passage through. She took one more look back at Guozhi who had seated himself on the ground, laying down his staff in front of him, and then proceeded through them.

Passing through the smaller trees, the path to the stone steps was clear and straight as she walked across it and made her way up the steps. The open doorway in front of her was white marble outlined in gold and coppery looking plates. She paused a minute, looking over the doorway, and then proceeded through.

Shaggara found herself in another, small, dimly lit chamber. As her eyes adjusted she could see a single pedestal rising out of the floor. It was covered over with lines of a copper colored metal in geometric patterns that flowed down into the floor and across the walls. She approached the pedestal which came up to just above her waist and studied it.

It was cylindrical in form and came up to form a kind of slant at the apex where the coppery lines converged to form the imprint of a five fingered hand. She took her left hand and placed it on the imprint.

The pedestal immediately responded as bluish white lines of glowing energy spread rapidly from the hand print down the patterns of the pedestal, across the floor, and around the walls. Whatever this chamber's purpose, she realized, she had just awakened it.

"Identity 'Shaggara,' confirmed. Presence of the Triforce of Courage, confirmed. Complete access to archives granted." A young woman's voice echoed around the chamber. "Greetings, Lady Shaggara. How may I serve you?"

Surprised, Shaggara didn't know what to ask first as she looked around the chamber. She then asked the first thing that came to her mind. "What is this place?"

"This is the Lantean research facility _Silvacantos_ , translated into your language it means 'Forest Song.' It was established for the purposes of experimentation and population of the world designated 'Azeroth' by the Duo'oni research team led by Ladies Nayru, Din, and Farore." The voice replied helpfully.

Shaggara took in that information carefully. Her next question was similarly simple but relevant, "Who are you?"

"I am the artificial intelligence construct designated 'Fi'. I was created by the Lantean computer scientist Fidela ten thousand years ago to assist in research and development of their existing projects." Fi responded.

Shaggara didn't understand much of that response by the disembodied voice. "Where are you? Why can't I see you?"

"Would you like to use a visual construct to interact with?" Fi asked.

"Yes." Shaggara responded, still not understanding everything the voice was telling her.

The air on the other side of the pedestal began to shimmer as the form of a diminutive young human woman with short cropped hair began to take shape. As the form solidified, she had a silvery, metallic face and body to her like a polished truesilver statue, and a dark blue dress and boots.

"Does this interactive form please you?" The metallic woman then asked.

"Yes, it's fine." Shaggara told her somewhat dismissively as she remembered why she came. "I'm looking for answers."

"This is the purpose for my existence, Lady Shaggara." Fi responded politely.

"I need to know how to stop Garrosh Hellscream from destroying this world." Shaggara then told her bluntly.

"I'm sorry. I have no information on Garrosh Hellscream. Can you be more specific?" Fi replied, a tinge of regret in her voice.

Shaggara then paused for a minute and tried to think in what terms the living statue in front of him would understand. How would her friend Zelda pose such questions? She didn't know. But the girl in front of her appeared to know what a triforce was, so she then decided to start there.

"The… uh, triforce has been split into three. The person who now bears the triforce of power is an evil man, and his power is increasing. He is killing thousands of innocent, unarmed people. I need to know how to stop him." It was simple, straightforward, and to the point.

A genuine look of sorrow appeared on Fi's metallic features as the construct digested this news. It was some time before she responded again. When she did, her tone was grave, "This is terrible news. I calculate a ninety-eight point three percent of this planet's total destruction within six months."

Shaggara nodded in agreement. "How do I stop it?" She asked again.

A three dimensional image of the Sword of Mastery appeared in the air next to Fi's form and hovered in between them. Another image of a faceless humanoid with a triforce mark on his hand then appeared and the weapon was thrust tip first through the chest of the new construct in demonstration.

"You must strike him down with the _lamna clavia_. The unique nature of this weapon has the ability to sever a triforce bearer's connection with their piece." Fi then explained.

"That's it? That's all I have to do? It took two such weapons with the last master of this relic and even then we did not destroy him." Shaggara told her somewhat frustrated.

"This is all the information I have in my archives on this subject." Fi replied calmly.

 _No, there has to be more. It cannot be that simple or else my friends would not have had to fight as hard or as long as they had._ The orc woman thought to herself. _I need to speak with those who have fought this fight before and won. I need to speak with Zelda._

"I need to know where Zelda…" Shaggara then caught herself, realizing that the construct may know her by a different name. "Uh, Hylia. I need to know where the Lady Hylia went."

Fi responded without hesitation. "The Lady Hylia and Copulus returned to Hyrule through the linking book in this facility's library."

"Show me." Shaggara then told her.

Instantly a map appeared in front of her in the air marking out a path to a chamber not far from the one she was in. The view then changed from the map to an image of the book in question and its location on a gray metallic table on which it lay open.

"How do I use this 'linking book?'" The orc warrior woman asked.

"To use a linking book a person must place their hand on the travel image panel. Teleportation to the described world is then instantaneous, Lady Shaggara." Fi told her.

"How do I return here once I've used it?" She then questioned.

"In order to return, you must carry a return linking book with you. Such books are also located in this library along this bookcase here." The image she was shown then flew across the room to another coppery metallic bookshelf set into the wall where a series of leatherbound books small enough to fit in a coat pocket were stored.

"Thank you." Shaggara then said somewhat gruffly as she turned to follow the route she had been shown.

"You are welcome, Lady Shaggara. Is there any other way I may be of service to you?" Fi responded.

Shaggara had just been about to dismiss her with a wave of her hand, but then a thought struck her as she remembered her furry Pandaren friend sitting as a guest of the ancient trees in the Arboretum.

"I have a companion in the Arboretum. I may be gone for some time. Can you see to it that he receives adequate food and..." She then said with a smile, "some tea."

"Of course, Lady Shaggara. I will see to it immediately." Fi replied without hesitation to the back of Shaggara's head as the orc warrior woman left the chamber.

Several minutes later, Shaggara found herself disoriented as she materialized into existence in a shimmer of golden light. The large chamber she stood in was not the one from which she had left. The one which she had left had been a somewhat small room crammed with bookshelves that had been built into the walls and a few small desks and tables taking up what space had remained away from the entry doorway. The chamber was expansive and resembled the sanctuary of a temple or religious structure.

As her stomach subsided and her vision cleared she saw about ten or twenty yards in front of her a set of white marble stairs which led upwards, a railing to either side, into a blue field of swirling energy that encompassed a double doorway. At her feet, the familiar three triangle into one symbol was etched in gold into the polished marble floor. Behind her as she turned around, two statues of well armored, humanoid guardians stood silently as though watching the newcomer, though they did not move. Off to either side stained glass and clear glass windows set high up on the walls allowed sunlight to stream through in golden colors to splash along the floor.

The space around her felt as though it were meant to be sacred somehow. It reminded her of some of the Sindorei structures or even the ruins of the city of Lordaeron which she had seen in her travels as she turned around and around to take the structure in.

"Where am I?" She asked aloud, not expecting any response as she turned again to face the field of energy that she recognized as a portal.

Not knowing exactly which direction to go, she began slowly towards the portal of energy. As she did so, she felt a prickling in the back of her mind and her own thoughts flashed across her conscious mind apart from her control as memories were dug up and examined in the space of a heartbeat before moving on to more. Then, almost as quickly as it began, it was over.

"Not that way, child." An aged, elven woman's voice from behind her spoke. "I have the answers which you seek. There is no need to for you to waste time entering Hyrule."

Shaggara whipped around to find an ancient, hunched old elven woman draped with a red robe which carried similar sigils and markings to the Kirin Tor. A long gray and white braid of hair hung down from one side of her head.

"Who are you, old woman?" Shaggara questioned as she looked into the elven woman's eyes.

In spite of her frail appearance, there was a strength to the woman that Shaggara had rarely seen before. There was a kind of strange kinship that she felt and knew that once upon a time she had been a warrior like herself, fighting to protect her people and her world.

"I am called 'Impa,' Hero." Impa replied. "I am the Sage of Time, the guardian of this hallowed place. I know who you are, Hero of Azeroth, and why you are here. You come seeking answers, and I have them, but they are not easy."

"Nothing in life worth having is." Shaggara replied with respect.

"This is a good understanding to have, young one. I believe we will get along quite well, you and I." Impa replied, a smile on her lips. "Come with me."

Shaggara approached her and the old woman turned to return through a stone archway in between the twin armored statues.

"Follow." She told the orc woman.

"I need to speak with Princess Zelda." Shaggara told her as they walked together.

"No, you don't." Impa contradicted her. "The Princess and her Hero are busy living their lives as best they can. They were awakened more than they needed to be by their foray into your world. It has not been a smooth return for them. They broke rules and the Others took them to task, but what's done is done and the balance was restored once more. It was forgiven this time. It will not be the next."

"But you said I could find the answers I needed." Shaggara protested.

"No." Impa replied. "I said I have the answers you need, and that they would not be easy. Neither the Princess nor the Hero need be bothered."

They emerged into another large chamber. In the center of the chamber, on a raised dais led up to by more stairs stood a marble pedestal. In the center of the pedestal, Shaggara could see the sapphire hilt of Zelda's mate's Master Sword and half of the blade. The other half was firmly locked in the pedestal.

In the floor around the raised dais circles with symbols were inscribed, and Impa pointed them out to her. "There are six such symbols around this chamber. They are the elemental seals with which my order is charged in keeping; light, shadow, fire, water, forest, and spirit. It is when these come out of balance that the seal which keeps the demon king imprisoned becomes undone."

Shaggara nodded in understanding. "Like the Golden Flame is a balance of the three virtues. My mate and I were tested harshly to ensure that those virtues were balanced within us before we were permitted to retrieve it."

"Yes, exactly." Impa told her, approving of her new pupil's attentiveness. Link was a dear boy to her and always had been, but he could be so easily distracted and lazy at times.

She continued in her instruction. "When the Triforce is sundered, it throws the bearers out of balance as that virtue to which they adhere to most strongly becomes magnified a thousandfold within them. In order to defeat the bearer of the Triforce of Power, you must bring yourself back into balance with the other two virtues."

"How?" Shaggara questioned, though she was relieved that the old woman was not beating around the bush with her.

"You have an immense amount of courage, child. But courage without wisdom is recklessness, and without the power to act is useless. You have Farore's blessing of the wild and of the forest about you, but lack anything of Nayru's calm wisdom or Din's fiery passion or power." Impa told her.

"I do not know these gods. Their names are meaningless to me." Shaggara told her, though she believed she understood what she was saying.

Impa nodded in understanding, "And they need not become familiar. Only that you must bring these aspects into yourself. I don't know your world hero, but there are always elements and people that can teach you their ways to bring yourself back into harmony. You must unite these native powers of your world within yourself in order to defeat the bearer of Din's gift."

An image of Guozhi and his teachings on balance and harmony ran through the orc woman's mind. Another face as well crossed, an orc shaman for whom she had nothing but respect.

The old woman smiled at her new pupil as though she was reading her thoughts. "Yes, Hero. Seek these ones out. They will be of great value to you in defeating your new demon king."

"And if I can't defeat him?" Shaggara then questioned, her fears rising to the surface.

"You already know the answer to that question, young warrior." Impa replied gravely. "Use your book. Return to your world and find the balance that you need, Hero." She then added, her voice becoming more personal and maternal, "I have watched over and guided the Hero and the Princess for countless eons, child. I have seen the demon king rise up time and again only to be put down again. This 'warchief' of yours is nothing like him. I have seen in your mind that there are still lines he will not cross that Ganondorf would not recognize; not yet at any rate. And there is a strength within you that I have rarely seen in anyone save one, and I am certain that she would agree that you are more than capable of this task."

Shaggara stood there in the sanctum of the Temple of Time, considering the old woman's words. She wanted desperately to end the threat as soon as she returned, and the additional dishonor Garrosh brought to her clan's name by his actions. She took the book she had brought with her out of the pocket of the cloak she wore and placed it in her hand.

"Thank you, Impa, Sage of Time." Shaggara told her.

"Oh, I almost forgot." Impa then told her as though on a whim. "Please, wait right there, I won't be long."

Shaggara lowered the hand which held the linking book and waited as the strange old woman hobbled off. It seemed ages until she returned, and the orc warrior had been tempted several times to just use the linking book and return to her own world.

But the old woman then returned, carrying a long, thin package wrapped in cloth. She handed the cloth bound package to her and said, "Open it and use it well. It served me well when I was able to wield it. Consider it the first step towards restoring your balance."

Shaggara then unwrapped the cloth to reveal an exquisitely made sword. The pommel was a single, flawless deep purple amethyst. The hilt was wrapped in soft leather that felt extraordinary in her hand as she drew it from the scabbard. On the dark metal crossguard was the violet emblem of an all seeing eye with a single tear, the same emblem as was on the crimson robes of the old woman. The runed, broad bladed weapon was perfectly balanced and easily the same length as the Sword of Mastery. It felt as if it were made just for her.

"It is beautiful." Shaggara said in awe of the gift. "A weapon fit for a warrior."

" _Her_ name is _Shadow Strike_." Impa told her. "She was forged millennia ago by the weapon smiths of my people for me to serve my Lady, and I would see her wielded by a capable warrior in the service of the goddess once more even as my hands no longer have the strength to wield her."

Holding the new weapon in her right, she then drew the Sword of Mastery with her left hand. They complemented each other wonderfully as she felt the equal balance between them. Combined they were no heavier or lighter than her mithril axes had been. With weapons in both hands she felt somehow whole once more.

"You honor me greatly, warrior Sage." Shaggara told her. "I thank you deeply once again."

"Use her well, warrior, and protect your world." Impa told her.

She replaced both blades into their scabbards and fixed Shadow Strike's sheath to cross the Sword of Mastery's across her back to where she could draw both easily.

"I will." She promised the ancient sage.

Shaggara then opened the linking book and placed her hand on the image panel. Immediately, she disappeared in a shimmer of golden light.

"I believe that you will, child. I believe that you will." Impa said, smiling.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

It was late afternoon when Anduin Wrynn materialized in a large circular chamber that, though he had never seen it personally, he recognized from illustrations and artwork in history books and paintings which had hung on the walls of his childhood home. He wore his royal blue and gold, princely overcoat, emblazoned with the lion insignias of Stormwind over a clean and pressed white silk collared shirt. His dark leather boots, decorated with golden accents were polished to a shine. His blond hair had been neatly combed and tied back into a short, warrior's ponytail reminiscent of his father's. But as he raised his eyes, any observer could see the bags underneath the bloodshot orbs from lack of sleep. In his right gloved hand was held the white and blue hearthstone, his left held the strap of a large bulging leather and mageweave bag which had been slung across his back.

The seal of Lordaeron was the first thing to greet his eyes as they came back into focus. It was emblazoned across the marble floor his eyes were pointed towards before his disorientation subsided and he raised his head to taken in his new surroundings. The first thing after the seal which greeted his eyes was an elven woman in the traditional dress of the rangers of Silvermoon, a dark blue cloak hid most of her golden blond hair and flawless complexion which were common to her race, though her long tapered ears projected from the sides. Her eyes held an otherworldly greenish glow to them, also a hallmark of her race. If she had been human, he would have guessed her age at no more than thirty years, but he knew that figure to be wildly inaccurate.

The woman sat on a golden and marble throne, its armrests terminating in lion's claws on which she rested her bare, undecorated, slender hands. It was one he had often seen images of, and he knew exactly to which chamber the hearthstone had taken him. He was in the throne room of Lordaeron.

To the left of the regal elf woman, and back a ways from the throne stood an elderly, yet still intimidating orc in mail and leather armor. An impressive war axe hung in a sling across his back. The orc observed the new arrival with keen, cunning eyes and a pensive, though not hostile expression. To her right stood a tall, muscular human man with a soldier's bearing, raven black short cropped hair and beard, and square jaw. His eyes held a dim, pale blue unearthly glow, and he wore the ebon black plate armor of a death knight. The long, two handed blade which hung at his back looked well used. The death knight observed the prince with a curious expression, though again, not hostile. His own pale blue glowing eyes held bags under them as though it had been a long time since he had slept well.

 _Her two closest advisers, it appears, are an aged orc and a knight of the Ebon Blade. If my friends in Ironforge had seen this, they would have restrained me from coming here for my own good._ He thought to himself.

The one thing which truly appeared out of place in the scene to his eyes, or perhaps it was most fitting under the circumstances, was the sight of a little, dark haired human girl in a dress of Sindorei design. She slept peacefully on the elven woman's lap against her golden armored breast.

Was the girl a statement the elven queen wished to make to him at the outset? He took note of it and wondered what the queen meant to convey by her presence.

After a minute or so, the elven queen spoke directly to him, but made no attempt to get up from her throne, "Greetings, Anduin Wrynn, you are welcome in Lordaeron."

Her tone of voice was formal but polite. It was one many rulers and diplomats used at the outset of negotiations as a matter of protocol, he recognized.

"Thank you, your majesty, for the invitation." The prince of Stormwind returned with the same formality and politeness. Then he added, "I must say that it did come as a surprise, and I must also say," he then added, "my coming here was counseled against by the remaining Alliance leadership and representatives. But my place is with my people."

"Of course it is." Sylvanas Windrunner responded. "Our first concern as leaders of our people will always be the welfare of our people."

"I agree unquestionably." Anduin replied.

She then spoke loudly so that all those in the throne room could hear her clearly. "Let it be known that the queen of Lordaeron formally recognizes your rightful succession as sovereign king over the Kingdom of Stormwind and its territories, and that this kingdom will afford you every hospitality as befitting your station and rank until such a time as you and your people no longer require it."

Anduin considered this pronouncement carefully. Sylvanas was following all of the established protocols when, in truth, she had no need to either for herself or her own united northern kingdom. From all he had heard of her, she could have simply lain claim to all of it, and there would have been nothing he could do at the moment to reclaim what was legally his without further weakening and splitting the Alliance forces when their unity was need now more than ever. The title she had recognized and the rights that went with it were generous considering that the major city of his kingdom had been destroyed and the rest of his territories lay under siege at this very moment.

He had been informed of the truth of this queen's message later that evening after he received it. Ironforge had attempted to send their promised troops to his father through the tram which ran in between their capital and his only to find Stormwind's end caved in and impassible. They then sent gryphons and flying machines to overfly the city and its provinces. The devastation they reported was unimaginable, especially for such a small force as the orc warchief had brought with him. The dwarven ambassador wanted the prince to return with him immediately to the mountain fortress city of Ironforge and was aghast when he learned of the elf queen's invitation and message.

"That is generous, your majesty, considering the circumstances. If I am now a king, it is in title only, and one in exile at that." He replied. "Still, I thank you for the courtesy." He then moved on quickly to the topic which most pressed on his mind. "My people, where are they?"

She nodded approvingly, and her face adopted an expression one might take with an equal. "Many of those we rescued from Stormwind City remain in Southshore in temporary camps until we can find or build more permanent housing. Those we were able to bring through portals are now here in Lordaeron or in Silvermoon City. I have given orders to find them what housing and provisions we can find. I understand that many have been housed in the western half of the city which had been vacant for some time though is now undergoing reconstruction."

There was some relief, tense though it was, in Anduin's expression as heard. He then asked the question that he had dreaded to know the answer to. "How many? How many survivors were there?"

"We are still gathering a complete census. It's difficult to make a full head count because we had to evacuate them to three separate locations. My people estimate as many as twenty thousand total between the transport ships and those we got out through mage's portals. Most of those are children and their caretakers, though there are some elderly and a few soldiers who made it out as well. I'm told that the Kirin Tor may have my head for the damage we caused to the ley lines by so much portal traffic." She then looked down at the sleeping girl and said in a lower, though still audible voice, "So be it."

Anduin didn't have to do the mental math to know most of his city had perished along with his father. An image of the dark haired, ruggedly handsome warrior king with the scarred face passed in front of his mind's eye. He and his father had not always seen eye to eye on many things, but in the last few years they had at least come to an understanding of one another, and even a reconciliation.

"And my father? How did he die?" Anduin then asked, a slight tremor of emotion in his voice.

The queen's expression softened a bit as she told him, "I am told by my own people that witnessed it, and by those of his men that survived, that he challenged the warchief to single combat in order to buy time for your people to evacuate to the harbor. If the warchief had not used the power of the relic he is now in possession of, he might have put an end to all of this. He gave his life so that your people might survive. For this, in spite of our past differences, I honor his memory. Unfortunately, we were not able to retrieve either his body or his possessions."

"I understand. Thank you for your kind words on his behalf." Anduin replied, emotion seeping into his voice.

Sylvanas then told him, "My people will show you to the rooms we have prepared for your stay. They have all been instructed that you are free to go anywhere in within our domain or to travel to your allies as befitting your station and as we are able to provide portals. The one exception is the Undercity beneath us, not without my escort. Consider this your home, your majesty, until your kingdom may be restored to you."

She motioned with her right hand for two men wearing crimson and gold cloth coats and pants with the firebird insignia of the new Lordaeron to approach the new king of Stormwind in exile. They politely gestured to take his traveler's bag from him and escort him to his prepared set of rooms.

"Generous, your majesty, thank you again." Anduin replied as he took his leave of her and followed her two servants out of the throne room.

Shaggara returned to the silvery moonlight and soft soil floor of the arboretum from the golden and marble doorway she had passed through. There was a new purpose and resolve on her mind and heart as she traveled back along the path through the guardian woods. As she reached the center of the arboretum where the great ancient stood, she found her Pandaren companion where she had left him, seated peacefully on the ground. Drawing near to him, she could hear the Pandaren chuckle more than once as the ancient tree spoke to him in its rich, deep voice.

On the ground in front of Guozhi sat a plain metal tray upon which rested a similarly metallic plate and bowl. What those vessels had originally contained was anybody's guess as there remained only crumbs on the plate and a small amount of broth in the bowl. A tall, cylindrical gray metal flask stood upright on the tray as well, and the subtly sweet, earthy scent of a black tea caught her nose as she came to stand next to her.

"Guozhi?" Shaggara asked. "Are you alright?"

"Ah! Honorable Shaggara! Yes, yes! I am most well! The honorable ancient one and I have been sharing stories of my people both new and ancient. It is a fascinating tale he tells! And the young metal lady has been most hospitable." He told her, gesturing to the empty vessels on the tray.

Guozhi then picked himself off the ground and asked her, "Did you find the answers you sought?"

"I did." She told him, and then said with a humbleness uncharacteristic of her people, "And part of that answer lies with you, my friend, if you would do me the honor of teaching me."

The Pandaren monk bowed slightly to her and replied, "It would be my sincere honor, my friend. But where does the other part of the answer lie?"

"I believe it lies with another, though how to find him I do not know." She admitted.

Guozhi nodded and then turned to the ancient tree with whom he had been speaking and bowed once more. "It was most pleasant to speak with you, honorable ancient one. I hope we may be able to share stories once more, but now, regrettably, I must take my leave of you."

"You are welcome among us, monk Guozhi." The ancient guardian responded in its deliberate, deep voice. "I have not enjoyed such new company in a very long time." It then added, before raising its branches high to the silvery light once more, "May Mother Elune bless your path. Walk well in her light."

Then the trees around them fell silent and still, returning to their long slumber. A narrow and straight path returning to the landing of the tower stairwell opened between them as they did.

The orc warrior woman and the Pandaren monk then proceeded through the moonlit arboretum and back into the white stone spiral stairwell.

It was later in the evening in Ironforge when Anduin materialized in the bronze colored throne room of the deep mountain city. The white and blue hearthstone given to him by his trusted friend and comrade Muradin Bronzebeard had worked flawlessly.

"Anduin lad!" Came the deep cry of his heavily armored dwarf friend as he almost charged up to him to embrace him in a fierce hug. "We thought tha' devil witch would never ha' let you go!"

The dwarf was only about half the human man's height and Anduin had to bend down to return the embrace. The dwarf's hair and braided beard were the signature coppery bronze color of his clan, and his heavy plate armor bore the marks and insignias of both his clan and Ironforge itself.

"Tis' good to see ye 'gain, lad." Another, female dwarf's voice called out, though did not engage in such a familiar welcome as her fellow representative on the dwarven council. Still, Moira Thaurissan's welcome was cordial without a trace of irony or sarcasm. Her own hair was the same color as Muradin's, bound tightly in twin buns on either side of her head. She wore a dark colored dress with armored shoulder plates that carried the sigils of the Dark Iron clan, though she carried the title of Queen Regent of Ironforge, being the daughter of the late dwarf king, Magni Bronzebeard.

"They didna' hurt a hair o' ye head, now did they lad?" Muradin questioned suspiciously.

"No, quite the contrary. I have been given all the courtesies one could ask for or be afforded, including free passage to and from Lordaeron to consult with our allies." The prince responded.

"And your people they made off with? Where're they holding them?" The dwarf questioned further.

Anduin shook his head at the dwarf. "Safe for the moment and being provided for as I am told. I intend to check on their state myself tomorrow." He then related the entire exchange with his friend and the other dwarves present. "Muradin," he then began, "I didn't sense any hostility or deception in Sylvanas' eyes or tone of voice. I believe she sincerely meant everything she said."

"Tha' only means she's a convincing liar, lad." Moira remarked, speaking from experience. "The best ones even believe everything they say, tha' doesna' make it true. We know wha' this witch is capable of, don' we? We know wha' she's done in th' past, and wha' she's threatened your father with."

"I know, but for now she is apparently seeing to the welfare of my people. I will confirm the truth of her words as time progresses. There is something about her expression and demeanor that seems very different from the stories I have heard of the Dark Lady. The woman I met is not the woman I have heard of." He told them.

Muradin sighed, giving the prince a skeptical look. "I trust your judgment, lad. You've got a way with seein' people and gettin' them to see things as they are, no question 'bout tha'. But this witch is no' to be trusted. Not even her Horde allies ever went so far as to trust her word on anything. Tha' is why Thrall put his guards in her city in th' first place."

Moira then added, "You're still a young 'un, lad. Don' be fallin' for what she's sellin', pretty face or no."

"I won't." Anduin replied firmly, understanding where they were both coming from, and what was behind their warnings. "But I also understand people can change, and the changes her people have recently gone through are extreme. Everyone has a reason for the actions they take, either for good or for ill. It's a matter of understanding why they take them. She has already earned the benefit of the doubt just by saving the people that she did. She didn't have to do that, and she took a big risk in so doing." He then continued, speaking his train of thought out loud. "With this new power that Garrosh Hellscream used to destroy Stormwind, Ironforge doesn't have the troop strength to make an enemy of the north as well as defend itself from the Horde who will likely come in from the south. We need to learn more about it, and what Sylvanas Windrunner's true intentions are. We need to know if she truly is what she now appears to be."

"And wha' do ye think that is, lad?" Moira asked.

"Our new ally against Hellscream." Anduin responded. "And if she is, we don't want to turn what help she offers away."

"And if she isna'? Wha' then?" Muradin asked, almost not believing what he was hearing.

"Then the Alliance, and my own people, may not survive this new war." Anduin told them matter of factly.

"You sure 'bout this, lad?" Moira asked him. "'Tis a dangerous course o' action ye be takin' then."

Anduin nodded. "I'm sure. Send word to Tyrande Whisperwind in Darnassus and the Prophet Velen in the Exodar of my decision, and my whereabouts. Have the night elves then inform Genn Greymane. I'll keep all of you updated with whatever news I can."

"The gods help us all then when we be trustin' the queen o' the damned to save us." Muradin swore.

The white ghost wolf was waiting for them at the foot of the white stone arch as the orc warrior and the Pandaren monk emerged from the ancient night elf tower. It appeared to shimmer translucently as it sat back on its haunches and observed the two, calmly watching them come through the arched stone doorway that sealed itself when they were fully through.

Shaggara was the first to see it.

She stood at the bend of the arched ramp looking down at the spirit animal as it calmly watched her, though did not vanish from sight at their approach.

"What do you want?" She demanded from the animal, a tinge of fear creeping into her voice.

The stories and superstitions of her own people ran through her mind. She balled her fists, not sure of what action to take with it, though her newly twinned blades remained where they were in their scabbards.

Then the animal's form began to shift, morph, and solidify into the shape of a tall, middle aged orc man wearing the vest and kilt of a shaman of her people. His face Shaggara knew very well.

"Warchief?" She asked in disbelief.

Thrall sighed at the apellation sadly. "No longer." He replied. "Such is my own burden to bear."

"It was you who followed us on the road?" She questioned, not knowing what else to say. "Why?"

The orc man looked her in the eyes, and even, it seemed, through them to what strength may lay beneath. Finding what he sought and approving, he said, "The spirits of the elements speak your name, Shaggara of the Warsong clan. They call you. I have come to bring you to them."


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Gereth opened his hurting, swollen eyes one at a time, but the scene in front of him hadn't changed, and, unable to concentrate or draw from the magic he so relied on, it wasn't going to any time soon. It had been the same scene he had awoken to for days, or at least what felt like days.

His manacled arms still hung limply from the chains embedded in the ceiling of the dungeon hole that the orcs had dragged him to. His knees were bent as the soles of his feet rested on the dirty floor which felt like stonework beneath him, and his backside rested on what felt like a stone slab. He surmised that was so that he could still breathe with his arms in the position they were in. Pain shot through his legs every time he tried to stand. His Horde captors had broken them to ensure that he didn't get free and run.

But they had not killed him.

Stranger still, he could feel the burning itch of the piece of the Golden Flame which had embedded itself in his right hand, though with the way his arms were tightly bound over his head he could not raise and turn his neck enough to see the mark for himself, but the Triforce of Wisdom made its presence known to him all the same.

There was almost no light that would enter his eyes in the dungeon room. The soft golden white glow coming from his hand was the only source of illumination, and it only provided shadows for him to orient himself with. As far as he could tell, he was the only prisoner in the otherwise over large cell.

The only other source of dim light which entered came from cracks around a man sized rectangular shape across the chamber. He surmised that this had to be the doorway which led into the rest of wherever they were keeping him.

He remembered little except either this dungeon or others like it since his encounter with the warchief. Occasionally, either an orc or a tauren guard would come in with a pail of salty, foul smelling sludge and spoon heaps of it roughly into his mouth followed by a skin of water that they would nearly drown him with. It was horrid, but he had heard tales of orc guards using their prisoners' mouths as latrines to keep them fed and watered, so he figured himself somewhat fortunate on that count.

For whatever reason, they wanted him alive for the time being, and comparatively unspoiled.

He then heard the scraping sound of a key turning in a lock, and then a "click" from the other end of the chamber. The rectangular shape formed by the dim light then expanded to encompass the entire frame. But it was soon filled with a large, orcish shape carrying a torch.

"Plaything." The orc greeted him. "I see my prison guards have not had too much fun with you yet. I am still debating whether or not to keep them here watching you. As you can see, you have received somewhat 'special' treatment as compared to the rest of your kind."

"Oh?" Gereth managed to ask, his voice hoarse.

"Yes, as you can see, you are the only one we choose to keep alive for the moment." Garrosh told him.

"And..." Gereth tried to take a breath to get the words out, "why is that?"

"Let us say you intrigue me. You and that traitorous bitch of yours. Where is she, by the way? I would so much like to speak with her too." The orc warchief told him lecherously.

 _So that's why I'm still alive. He's looking for Shaggara._ Gereth realized.

"She's not here." Gereth replied, stating the obvious.

Garrosh chuckled. "Yes, I can see that, plaything." He then changed the subject, "I had thought there was only one of these relics."

The warchief then held up his own right hand to reveal the mark of the Triforce of Power on the back of it. "But then I come to find out, you bear a similar mark, though not quite the same. Perhaps you can tell me what it means?"

Gereth then asked him with a calculated sarcasm, "Why don't you take it from me and find out?"

"Oh, I considered it." Garrosh replied. "But then I thought it would be a waste of energy. After all, it obviously did you no good against the power I wield, now did it? Although it appears to serve you quite well as a nightlight, doesn't it?" He flicked the back of Gereth's right hand a few times mockingly.

The orc put his face right up to Gereth's as he said it, a sinister grin appeared between his tusks. "I despise weakness. Your relic is weak. Your people are weak. And I will rid this world of the scourge of your weakness once and for all. But I do wish to know where your mistress is, plaything. I saw her strength and what she was capable of. I have no mate myself as of yet, and I wish to breed true warrior offspring. With your kind purged from Azeroth we will remake this world in our image, and the Horde will rule unchallenged."

"You're not her type." Gereth replied in disgust.

"Who said I would give her the choice. Perhaps she only needs to see what a real orc is capable of?" Garrosh taunted.

A rage built up inside of Gereth, a burning fire that threatened to overwhelm him at the foul, muscular orc's words. He wanted to unleash the firestorm on the orc and watch the orc writhe in pain for everything he had done and intended to do.

 _Not yet. Wait for the opportune moment._ A small, almost imperceptible voice spoke clearly in his mind. _Keep him talking. Learn as much as you can. Don't let your emotions rule your reason._

"The rest of Stormwind's forces in Elwynn and Redridge will stop you." Gereth then said, testing him.

Garrosh laughed. "Fool! You're in their dungeon, in what one of your weakling Stormwind troops called 'Westbrook Garrison.' That pathetic little collection of farms and houses your people called Goldshire burned well for days, and my men are putting your people to the sword in Westfall as we speak. That mountain province of yours will fall just the same as this lot, our brothers in the Burning Steppes will keep them entertained until we are able to see to them."

 _So he's already swept through at least the western half of Elwynn, is in process of taking Westfall. He didn't mention Duskwood. What did he mean by "our brothers"?_ Gereth did the math in his head and the numbers weren't adding up. "You must be stretching your troops pretty thin to take so much land so fast."

"Oh, so you weren't listening then. Let me explain this carefully for you again. I don't want to take your land. I don't need to leave men behind to babysit it. When we are done here, there will be no one left alive to worry about." The warchief told him. "There will be time enough later to bring our own people over from Durotar to make use of the empty farmland when the warriors are finished with their work."

Gereth felt sick to his stomach as realized the full scope of the orc's plans. What the warchief had in mind wasn't just a resolution to the on again off again conflicts between the Horde and the Alliance. It wasn't about territory or disputes. It was a final solution.

"So, what _does_ your relic do, plaything?" Garrosh asked again. "What special ability is it _supposed_ to give you?"

Gereth answered honestly this time, knowing it wouldn't change the warchief's disposition towards it. "Wisdom."

The warchief then laughed in his face again. "Useless and weak, as I thought. Keep your nightlight plaything. Let it remind you of your own pathetic failure."

The warchief then left the dungeon chamber, locking the door behind him. And the room around him collapsed into darkness once more except for the dimly burning light of the triangle mark on his hand.

Anduin walked among the tents of the refugee camps which had been hastily erected in the port of Southshore on the southern coast of the Hillsbrad Foothills in Lordaeron. It had never been a huge settlement that he had known of, being composed of a few houses, a town hall, and a wayfarer's inn for travelers moving on to the fortified town of Hillsbrad itself. After the Forsaken had overrun it and transformed its former population, the structures of the place fell into ruin and decay for years.

The irony was not lost on him that the same people who had formerly destroyed it were now in the process of rebuilding it and more. The town, like every settlement he had observed in his few days of stay in the northern kingdom was busy with carpenters, stonemasons, and new construction of all kinds. In the woods to the east and the west, logging camps had been erected and trees felled and cut to be used in the new houses and structures, the demand for which had increased exponentially with the new arrivals.

Priests bearing the robes of the Cathedral of Holy Light walked among the people in the camps. Refugees themselves, they had been instrumental in maintaining calm and order among the people who had been brought here. He could hear them as he passed by preaching words of encouragement and healing to anyone who would listen, and there were many that sought comfort in those words.

Next to him walked Sylvanas Windrunner, still wearing her armor and cloak. He had come to expect that either this was the only clothing she possessed, or it was the only persona she knew to project to her people. The strong, capable ranger-general who would fight for them. The one change he could see in that armor had been her gauntlets. He had understood from the descriptions of her that he had been given that she wore sharp metal claws that had been built into her hand armor, but from the time he had met her in the throne room days ago, her slender elven hands had been bare. And today, like most of the time he had observed her in his residency in Lordaeron, her right hand was occupied with another, tiny delicate one.

The little human girl that the queen referred to as "Ally" toddled beside her wearing a modest, but fashionable sundress. Her shoulder length dark hair was clean, neatly combed and parted in a fashion common among Sindorei women. The little girl didn't speak that he had heard. She often had a distant expression as though she had seen things no little girl should have witnessed. He had rarely seen her apart from the queen, and when it might be suggested that the little girl be elsewhere for a time, he had observed Ally with a look of terror in her eyes as she clung ferociously to the elf woman and would not leave her.

 _Certainly not the Dark Lady I have been told of_. He had thought and continued to think when he observed the queen with the little girl.

"As you can see, I have been true to my word. We have done everything we can to make sure your people are well cared for." The queen told him as they walked. "Those of your people who are able have been put to work alongside ours building housing and caring for the young ones."

"There are so many young ones." He replied as his eyes went to the faces of children, some young, some older, some forced to grow up and help the younger ones long before they should have had to.

"Your father ordered the women and children down to the harbor first. Those men that could fight for them, did." She told him, remembering the events distinctly and what she had been told from the Stormwind troops' debriefing, her elven memory and mind not allowing her to forget details. "Many of them lost both parents that night if they had any to begin with." She then glanced down at Ally who stared at the other children expressionlessly, but made no move to join them.

"What is to be done for these?" He then asked, his heart breaking for them.

"That is a question I have been asking myself since we brought them here." She replied. "Here, in Lordaeron, and in Silvermoon we have been overwhelmed with the number of orphans among the refugees, many of them still very young. It has been a very long time since my people have been able to produce children of their own, and while I have been informed of a few pregnancies in the months after the rebirth..."

"You don't know how to care for children anymore?" He tried to finish her sentence.

"Consider my people 'out of practice' with such things." She confirmed. "Even among the elves, children tend to be a rare occurrence."

Anduin glanced down at the little girl who clung tightly to Sylvanas' hand. "You appear to have a natural talent for it yourself, your majesty." He observed.

A look of confusion crossed the queen's face and then she too glanced down at the little girl. "She is no trouble." She then said. "I rescued her myself during the evacuation and then learned she didn't have anyone for us to find. It made little sense to add to the burden of the caretakers already here. As queen, I must be the example for others to follow. I cannot be exempted from sharing the burden of duty."

Anduin looked at her somewhat skeptically as a distinctly maternal expression flashed across her smooth elven features and then was gone again, but he said nothing.

"And neither can I as their king." He then responded. "By your leave, I believe I will relocate my residence here, among my people, your majesty. I believe I can do more good for them here."

"If you wish, though I cannot promise the same level of accommodations as of yet. As you can see, there are many here that need proper housing." She replied somewhat hesitantly.

"I'll make do. How can I reside in fine apartments when my people live in tents?" He asked her.

She nodded her understanding. "Of course. There is also another subject which I wish to discuss with you that pertains to our discussion."

"Yes?" He asked.

"I have received news of people, couples among my own people, who have volunteered to take in some of the younger orphaned children. There are not many so far, and as I said, we are out of practice, but it may relieve some of the strain on the people already here. Some of these are in Brill, a few in Lordaeron itself, and others still are in Hearthglen farther north. I have waited on a decision regarding this. I felt it was necessary to speak with you regarding it first as they are your people."

Anduin considered this carefully. It was reasonable, even generous, and Hearthglen had remained a largely human settlement even through the years that the province had been called the Western Plaguelands, overseen by the Highlord of the Argent Crusade, Tyrion Fordring. The man was known to deal with all fairly regardless of race. But it would integrate these children into the kingdom of Lordaeron more thoroughly and away from the southern heritage which was rightfully theirs. His dwarven comrades would see it as another devious plot on her account. Still, they had more pressing needs at the moment than that of culture and birthright such as food, shelter, and simply growing up. These needs would have to take precedence. They would deal with the former concerns later.

"You have my consent, your majesty." He told her, looking down once more at little Ally who still clung to the elf queen's hand. "As long as these little ones are cared for. That is all that matters right now."

Shaggara stood alone in her druidic dragonscale armor, a leather and canvas sack slung over her shoulder, as she faced a great gray stone pillar at least twice her height. The reddish tan earth beneath her feet was hot and cracked from Durotar's desert sun. Walls of natural stone the same color as the ground beneath her surrounded her in the canyon training grounds of her people known as the Valley of Trials. It had been so named because young orc warriors of every discipline and caste were sent here to prove themselves worthy to serve the Horde. Those that did, moved on to greater challenges. The corpses of those that didn't were buried or burned.

Her people had chosen this canyon because of its unusually strong connection to the elemental spirits of earth and fire. It became a link to the shamanistic beliefs and traditions of their ancestors to which the tauren had helped reawaken them. One was not fit to fight for the Horde if the elements tested them and found them unworthy.

She too had been tested here once upon a time as one of the warrior caste and had succeeded in her challenges. She had never thought to be brought here again, and not by the man who had delivered her among many from the dismal Alliance internment camps.

The dusty, packed dirt road through Durotar had been long as Shaggara's former warchief had led them south. The pace he had demanded was urgent, and he spoke little as they traveled back through Ashenvale and Azshara only to slip through Orgrimmar quickly and quietly the second night of their journey, their faces hidden by cowls and cloaks. When asked where Thrall was leading them, he would only respond, "south."

There had been so many questions she wished to ask. Chief among them were why he left, why he did not resume his rightful position of warchief, and why he had not already brought Garrosh Hellscream to justice for his crimes. But she respected him enough to leave him to his thoughts. He would speak when he was ready to speak, and not before. He had earned at least that much.

She and Guozhi had managed to learn that his mate, Aggra, and son, Durak, were safe in Aggra's home village of Garadar in the other dimensional remains of their homeworld, Outland. It was an irony that such a world that existed on the precipice of the twisting nether would now be a safer refuge for his family than this one. There were times when they made camp off the road at night in the reddish desert hills when she would see him fingering a small white stone with spiral blue markings before the orc warchief would replace it back into one of the leather pouches around his waist.

The warchief shaman and the Pandaren monk remained further down in the desert valley outside of this small section of canyon. Thrall had been insistent when he had handed her the flask of potion he called _sapta_.

"This is for you alone. Neither of us may follow." The shaman had told her.

"What am I to expect?" She had questioned him as she took the flask from him.

"To be honest, I do not know. When a shaman first hears the call of the elements, he must learn to commune with them one at a time as they call him, but our time is short, the need now is urgent, and the elemental spirits who call your name are many. The sapta I have prepared for you is unique. If it works, it will bind your spirit to all of those elements that call you and you will be able to speak with them and hear their voices." He had instructed her.

"You speak as though this has never been done before." Shaggara had observed.

"It hasn't." He replied gravely.

"Will it give me the power to command them as you do?" She asked.

Thrall gave her a reproving look as though a schoolmaster who had just been given the wrong answer to a simple question. "I do not command the elemental spirits. I commune with them and ask their cooperation. The elements are not our slaves, and we are not their masters." He told her sternly. "It is as I earned their respect and trust that they have chosen to respond to my call. You must earn their respect and trust as well, young warrior."

Shaggara did not respond to his calling her "young warrior" given her appearance, even though they were almost the same age, he being technically the younger of the two. Instead, she chose to keep his admonition in mind as she faced the stone pillar marked at the top with runes denoting the four elements of earth, air, water, and fire.

She unslung the bag she carried and opened it, removing several pieces of dry wood, tinder and the pieces of flint and iron she would need to bring life to a fire. She set to work on placing the wood appropriately to allow air flow as she struck the flint and iron against each other several times to produce a spark that the wood shavings and dry grass of the tinder might catch. It took several minutes, but eventually the small shower of sparks was caught by the tinder and she carefully nurtured it with air from her lungs as the flames grew bigger and bigger and eventually caught the wood itself.

Standing in between the growing fire and the stone pillar, she then uncorked the flask of sapta which Thrall had given her and drank it. It was grainy and burned her mouth and throat as it went down. The thick liquid tasted of mud and pitch mixed with earthroot and other herbs which she could not identify. She ignored the pain and the foul taste it brought to her mouth. She was an orc, and she would be stronger than mere discomfort.

Finishing the liquor she dropped the flask to the ground and waited.

A dizziness grew in her head, and the world began to feel as if it were turning slowly around her. Sweat began to drip from her skin. And then the voices came.

Quietly, almost imperceptible at first, the rumbling, grinding sound of stones rubbing against one another, and the sounds of flames from the fire licking the wood and thriving off the air it fed on became intelligible sounds and words.

The one word which she heard repeated over and over again was, "Sha… ggar… a…."

At first fearing for her sanity, she thought to leave, but then she steadied herself. Her warrior's fighting instinct took over and she held her ground, pushing back the fear and using it to fuel her resolve.

She then answered the voices, her own voice a challenge to them, "I am Shaggara of the Warsong Clan! Why do you call my name?"

Then the earth moved and quaked. From around her, stones and boulders flew from where they lay in the partial canyon and began to form the semi-humanoid, triangular shape of an earth elemental. At the same time, the fire she had lit exploded upwards and the flames twisted and turned into a similar creature of pure heat and light.

Instinctively, Shaggara drew her newly twinned swords Shadow Strike and the Sword of Mastery and gripped them in her hands. She had fought more than one elemental in her lifetime, and her encounters with them had never been pleasant.

The earth elemental, slow and steady observed her, what might be considered a look of amusement on what passed for its stony face. She then heard a grinding sound that resembled laughter.

"You dare challenge us, mortal?" The flames questioned her. "We will consume you in flame and bury your blackened bones. Our brother with carry your smoking ashes on his winds and drop them into the depths of the Great Sea. We are eternal, foolish thing."

"Peace, brother." The earth elemental spoke slowly and deliberately to the flames. "We did not call her to fight against us, but with us."

"Why?" Shaggara questioned as she lowered her blades.

"An evil power, one we do not know, has forced us into its service." The flames told her. "We are slaves to no one, and yet we are forced by this new evil to rage and destroy only at his pleasure and not our own!"

"Wherever this new evil goes, we suffer." The earth elemental continued. "We have been made to drink the blood of warriors and innocents countless times in eons past, but this innocent blood we have been forced to absorb cries out for vengeance. We know you carry a similar power within you. We have watched you for a long time, Shaggara of the Warsong clan. We know the great green dragon Ysera has blessed you with her gifts, and charged you as a guardian of the wild green nature. The powers that lie within you can challenge this evil mortal, but you will need more than you have to defeat him and restore the balance."

"I have been neither shaman nor druid." Shaggara told them both. "I do not know how to make use of this power you speak of."

"You possess courage and strength, young orc. There is one in the valley below who is a great friend to us. He will teach you all you need to know." The fire elemental told her.

Shaggara considered this. She then asked, "Will you come to my aid when I call you?"

"Treat us with respect, young one, and we will. Attempt to control us or command us, and we will destroy you." The earth elemental spoke this last gravely. "We will tolerate being enslaved to no one."

"Do you speak for only yourselves, or for all the elements?" Shaggara questioned.

"The wind blows in the direction it wishes, and the water flows where it will. They will speak to you when it suits them, not before." The fire told her.

"How do I begin this path you want me to walk?" She questioned, replacing her swords in their sheaths.

The earth elemental then took a stone from among those that made up his form and began to shape the stone with its crude, rough fingers. In the same way, the fire elemental took a larger piece of wood that had been blackened from the fire and it began to shape and transform before Shaggara's eyes. When they were both done, they handed the finished pieces to her.

"This is a totem of earth." The rock and stone creature told her as he placed it in her hand. It was cylindrical and thick in her hand. It felt as though a certain current of power ran through it. "Take it well, and honor us in its usage."

"This is a totem of fire." The living flames told her as it too placed the hardened, shiny black wood in her hand. It was warm, but not hot, and felt as though it were alive. "Let its flames purge and purify you."

She took both pieces and nodded her head to them respectfully.

"Treat us well, respect us, and you will find our help when you call." The flames repeated for her.

"I will." She promised, and it felt as though a sacred pact was struck between them.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

The gryphon scouts sent from Ironforge to survey the human kingdom to their south did not find anything welcome of which to report. The flying animals and their dwarven handlers, mostly from the Wildhammer clan much farther north, spent days crisscrossing Stormwind's territories from the skies, resting only on the peaks of the mountains and their hidden valleys away from the eyes of the Horde troops.

Whereever they went, it was the same story that they could observe. Goldshire and Northshire lay in ashes. Sentinel Hill's fortress tower and walls, only recently retaken from organized gangs, had been blown apart, their stones lay in heaps of rubble. Everywhere there were bodies left to rot either on the ground or impaled on stakes, many of them headless.

Most of Stormwind's available fighting force from the surrounding provinces had been in or near the city when Garrosh burned it to the ground. Ironically, they had been preparing to move against Orgrimmar the following day. As they flew over the remains of the human capital, only the spires of the Cathedral of Holy Light still stood though its white walls were blackened from the intense fires that had raged through the city. Without its armies to defend them, there was no one to hold back the warriors under Garrosh's command except the warchief himself.

He appeared uninterested in doing anything of the sort.

These facts were bad enough, but Garrosh was nothing if not a capable strategist. The gryphon scouts soon discovered that he had called in the Horde forces from Grom'Gol to enter Duskwood from the south, and the orcs from Stonard in what was now referred to as the Swamp of Sorrows to move through the Deadwind Pass from the east and take Darkshire by surprise that way. They saw columns of hundreds if not thousands more Horde troops moving towards the southernmost human province while Garrosh's main force finished up their sweep through Westfall and crossed the bridge to enter Duskwood from the west. On their return trip north they passed through the Redridge Mountains only to see camps of orcs bearing the standards of the Blackrock clan massing at the southern pass which road would eventually lead to Lakeshire.

In less than a week, the human lakeside town would be crushed within the vise as the two forces merged. There was no doubt in the scouts' minds as they flew north quickly and urgently, carrying the news back to the Council of the Three Hammers, as to which direction Garrosh would then turn his ground forces once Lakeshire had been ground beneath his heel.

"Have ye heard anythin' o' those blue skinned friends o' yours?" The bronze haired dwarf queen-regent questioned her Bronzebeard colleague as they stood around a thick stone table. They stood in the armory of the Military Ward of the capital city of the Dwarves. Military advisers and generals from all the clans surrounded them, feeding them both information as they themselves received it. Their third colleague, Falstad Wildhammer was among his own people in the north for the moment inspecting the Wildhammer's capabilities.

"Aye, I finally got word from Tyrande this afternoon. They've turned their ships from where they were supposed to meet Varian's," Muradin then paused for a moment in respect to the fallen king, "A' any rate, lass, her message said she'd talked with Velen, and they both agreed to send them on to the south to help in the fight. She sent the message days ago, so they've got to be gettin' close. Those night elf boats are bloody damned fast."

"Ye trust the tall blue forest dwellers and goat knights then?" Moira questioned skeptically.

"Tyrande has her own mind 'bout things, but she's got a good heart and head 'bout her, and I've never met a draenei who wasna' as good as his word." The Bronzebeard responded.

"What about our wee prince supping on the banshee queen's table? What news from him?" She asked.

"I don' know, lass." He told her. "The last message I got from him said she'd been keepin' her word and not molestin' his people in any way. A' any rate, even if they were willin' to join us in spite o' the history, they're even further away from Elwynn then we are. I still have no idea how they got down there so fast to grab all the womenfolk and wee bairns they did."

Then the gryphon scouts returned, immediately reporting to the council.

"Och, can this ge' any worse?" Muradin then nearly swore as he looked down at the battle map of the continent south of the Thandol Span in front of him.

"Ye bet yer arse, it can!" Moira responded testily pointing at the map. "Those orc bastards will be marching straight back into the Burning Steppes, the Searing Gorge, and the Badlands when they're through with the humans. Ye a' least've got that gorge between the Badlands and Loch Modan to slow them down. We've already had our hands full with the Blackrocks and that 'New Kargath' place of theirs! Those're my lands, and my people, ye Bronzebeard nit! It may be a burning hellhole, but it's home to us Dark Irons!"

"Aye, and it's because o' all that we can't get troops and siege tanks from Ironforge south fast enough to head them off." Muradin replied, a tired sound to his voice. "We've got a bloody arsenal up here that we can't get to where it bloody needs to be. Wha' abou' yer people, Moira? I know ye've got your own armories and troops. Would the Dark Irons be able to launch an offensive against the Blackrock camps from the north? We might be able to at least take tha' away from the Horde."

"I just told ye we need 'em to keep the green bastards away from us!" Moira told him forcefully. "If it comes down to a choice between the humans and my own people, I choose my people!"

"Use yer head, lass! I know there's a Bronzebeard in there somewhere! D'ya really think it'll go better for yer people if the orc bastards sweep into yer lands with the Blackrocks in tow than without? I don' know if Lakeshire can be saved by us or not, but we can at least keep the Horde army that comes at all o' us from doublin' in size. Like it or no', lass, either all the clans join together in this fight or our own cities and towns go the way of Stormwind with the way this is shaping up to be."

Moira chewed on that for some time as she studied the map. "Alright then," she then told him, "we can supply some ground forces to attack, what're ye bringin' to the party then? That Ironforge piss ye call whisky? Yer smiths canna' even make shells half as good as our own, and how're you gonna' get anything down south fast enough anyways? I thought tha' was the problem?"

"Aye, tha' 'nd something else we've go' tha' ye Dark Irons don't." Muradin grinned, letting the insult to the Ironforge smiths slide for the moment. "Somethin' as I recall yer own people didn't do so well against last time ye encountered it."

"And what's tha' then?" She then asked, truly curious as to what the Bronzebeard representative had hidden up his armored sleeve this time.

Twelve hours later, Blackrock warriors were awoken before dawn to a strange thumping, buzzing sound. The land around them was blackened and barren from the nearly constant volcanic activity which rocked the Burning Steppes. They came out of their red painted fur and hide tents and bedrolls swearing and cursing the swarm of massive bees they were certain were bearing down on them from the skies.

But as they looked around in confusion, they saw nothing in the darkness of the hours before dawn. Then, as the first rays of the sun began to peak over the eastern mountains, one of the orc warriors shouted, pointing to the north. Dozens of black specks appeared on the horizon in the sky outlined in white jets of fire. The orc warriors continued to stare, never having seen anything like them before. The closer they came, the more confused they became. It looked like a flight of dragons flying hind end first and propelling themselves with their jets of flame.

The next thing they heard was a screaming sound, and then another, and then another…

 _BOOM!_ Explosions began to rock the Blackrock encampments one right after another as the gnome built flying machine bombers unleashed their payloads on the newly helpless army of orc warriors that had clustered together for their own impending invasion of Redridge.

Some warlocks of the gray skinned clan attempted to strike back, but to no effect. The flying machines were high in the skies, safely out of range of their fel sorcery. The screams from the dropping bombs continued for minute upon minute as the explosions tore apart the mass of newly minted Horde troops.

And then, almost as suddenly as it began, it ended. Hundreds of warriors lay scattered across the ground dead. Siege engines and weapons of war had been smashed and reduced to splinters and rubble.

And then a new rumbling was heard coming from the north. The ground underneath them shook more and more violently as it came closer faster than a horse could ride. Great, boxlike wheeled machines came racing towards them.

The surviving Blackrock warriors, enraged at the cowardly attack upon them from the skies ran at the handful of clearly dwarven built devil machinery intending to open them with their axes and swords and gut the short stocky creatures inside.

But then, just as the orcs ran within thirty yards of the machines, sprays of artillery shells began decimating their lines from the backs of the dwarven siege tanks. Gray skinned orc warriors were ripped apart viciously by the artillery fire as the tanks rumbled on. It sounded like hundreds of thunder strikes all hitting at once as the siege tanks rolled forwards, crushing the orcs that weren't hit by the bullets of the machine driven "boomsticks" on their backs.

Dark skinned dwarves in darker armor and leathers manned the guns on the backs of their tanks as they cut down orc after orc and the blackened ground of the Burning Steppes was dyed green from the bodily fluids of the gray skinned warriors.

By the time the sun had risen to midmorning, nothing was left of the Blackrock encampment but torn orc flesh, splintered bones, and smoking craters. Their mission accomplished, the Dark Iron troops retreated with their heavy weapons of war back to their own strongholds in the Steppes. The flying machines from Ironforge circled around the battlefield to make a detailed report, and then returned north from where they came.

Their report would be good news at least this time, there would be no Blackrock clan reinforcements for Garrosh's Horde coming at Lakeshire from the north.

As the dwarves rained down destruction on the Blackrock clans, dozens of light lavender sails with twisting deep purple designs appeared on the horizon off the coast of the ruined city of Stormwind's docks. When the elegant elven ships that bore them came within sight of the smoking ruins several hippogryphs and riders launched from the craft to overfly the city. The hippogryphs' blue and fiery orange feathered wings and antlered beaked heads worked hard at their kaldorei masters' touch to speedily circle the city for their azure skinned elven riders.

After seeing all that they needed to see, the night elves returned to their ships and gave the all clear for them to pull into the ruined harbor and begin unloading their troops and supplies. Draenei paladins and warriors on their ivory tusked elekks, and kaldorei sentinels mounted on the backs of nightsabers quickly departed from the ships until hundreds of azure and lavender skinned mounted warriors began to fill the remains of the stone and wood harbor, spreading out to search the ruins for either survivors or threats, intending to deal with either as they happened.

They were surprised to find the ruins completely unguarded as small platoons of mounted soldiers searched the semi intact districts street by street, sickened and outraged by the carnage they continued to find. There had been nothing left for them to search in the southern half of the city which had been comprised of the former Mage's Quarter and the cratered rubble which had been Old Town.

The patrols then entered the thick, but cracked stone walls of Cathedral square. Strangely, the gray blue tiles and white stones of the religious center of the city had been left mostly untouched. Cracks from the force of the explosions which had raged around it ran through the buildings and white stone pavement, but it had suffered far less than the city around it. Here too, bodies had been discovered, being left to decompose and rot, including the battered, body of a bare chested warrior wearing the royal signet of the Wrynn dynasty.

The draenei paladins, upon seeing the white spires of the Cathedral still intact among all the devastation they encountered took it as a good omen, a light in what appeared to be the darkest hour of what might prove to be a long, long night. Reporting back their findings to Exarch Admetius and Sentinel General Shandris Feathermoon in command of the expedition, they set up a headquarters in the Cathedral of Holy Light to plan their next move.

Once the ships had been completely unloaded, half a dozen hippogryphs and their riders were dispatched to Ironforge to coordinate with their dwarven counterparts. At the same time, night elf druids and sentinels, both well disciplined in the art of stealth, were sent out south from the remains of the city to investigate the state of the human kingdom and the movements of the Horde forces. They had been days behind on intelligence, and had to play catch up quickly.

They too encountered the devastation which had been wrought across the previously peaceful heartland of what had been the last remaining human kingdom. With speed and agility unattainable by human scouts, they crossed east and west through Elwynn seeing only the same story as their dwarven allies had seen, farms and villages burned and the remaining citizens slaughtered.

The difference, however, was that the dwarven gryphons could only see the destruction from above. The night elves, as they combed the forest with their own keen senses began to find survivors among the carnage. Little by little, a whimper under the fallen beams of a farmhouse heard by the sharp ears of a druid, a terrified human man protecting a woman and two small children with a double barrel boomstick in a storm cellar discovered by an alert kaldorei sentinel, and a group of loggers holed up in a stone tower far to the east of the ashes of Goldshire. All of these had somehow been missed by the rampaging Horde that had turned their eyes west towards the dusty farms and broken lands of Westfall. In all, the night elf scouts brought back to the relative safety of Stormwind's ruins a few hundred survivors from the destroyed villages, logging camps, and farms that had been Elwynn Forest.

From all of it they developed a clearer picture of the warchief's army, its size, intentions, and path of destruction. Early the next morning, a force of paladins and sentinels rode out hard for Darkshire, surmising that they had little time left before the Horde arrived.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

The goblin in the Broken Tusk looked at his three ragtag, would be clients skeptically. He wore an expensive black silk shirt, dark red leather pants, and matching vest. A gold ring decorated his overlarge right ear, and a collection of jewel encrusted rings decorated both hands.

He had only come as a personal favor for Gryshka, and because she promised to forgive his much too long tab at her bar if he agreed. There were a lot of people Shizzlegrin owed money to without any intention of paying them back, but with as useful as the female orc innkeeper could be for him in pointing prospective clients his way, crossing Gryshka just wasn't profitable for his business.

The inn in Orgrimmar was empty that afternoon except for himself, Gryshka, the barkeep who glared at him, and these three that he'd never seen before, an orc female in weird night elf like armor, a Pandaren monk, and a tall orc shaman that kept his face hidden under the leather cowl of his cloak. His keen eye recognized them as clients that didn't want to be recognized by the local authorities. His mental register automatically raised their fee a hundred gold coins then made a note to check with the Kor'kron to see if they had a bounty on their heads worth more than they would pay.

"My sister tells me you have a fast zeppelin." The female orc warrior told him. "We have need of it."

"Yeah, I've made a few special modifications to her." Shizzlegrin replied, sipping the drink which had been sitting on the table in front of him. "She'll make from here to Gadgetzan in just under two hours. That's faster than any wind rider is capable of, I can promise you." He grinned.

"How much?" The shaman asked him. The orc's voice was deep and controlled, as though he were used to giving orders.

The goblin made another mental note.

"Now that all depends on where we're going." Shizzlegrin answered. "I can't imagine you'd be wanting to hire my boat if you just wanted to take a leisurely cruise to Thunder Bluff or old Gallywix's Pleasure Palace up north."

"We tell you where when we launch, goblin." The orc woman told him flatly. Her expression when speaking to him was one of disgust. Shizzlegrin could handle that, it was how all orc women tended to view him… until they got to know him _better_. "Otherwise our destination is our business."

 _Privacy fee, that will be another two hundred gold._ The goblin told himself. It was something he could work with, and had in the past.

"Sorry toots, but it doesn't work that way." He lied. "I've got to know how much fuel to load her with for the trip there, and I've got to buy more for the trip back."

It was a standard lie, and one he practiced many times. He used it to try and worm his way around a client's hesitation on telling him the destination because it sounded so reasonable from the engineering standpoint that his people were so famous for. The truth was he always loaded his ship with enough fuel to make a fast getaway even if he was being chased from Gadgetzan in the south to Everlook in the northern snow capped mountains of Winterspring. He also needed it to make it back to his own hanger if his clients stiffed him on the bill.

"We've got more than enough gold to compensate you for the trip back." She told him.

 _Oh really?_ Shizzlegrin began to envision himself at Gallywix's in the near future.

"As for the trip there, be prepared to cross the Great Sea." The shaman added.

 _The Great Sea?_ Shizzlegrin had to hide the internal double take he did. _Are they kidding?_

"I'm sorry, but did you just say you needed to cross the Great Sea?" The goblin asked for clarification. "Maybe Gryshka didn't tell you, lady, but I'm not the friggin' Cartel, I can't just replace my boat like they can. I don't take my zeppelin over the water. There's too much of a liability issue, and if she goes down, I can't even salvage her."

This much at least was the honest truth. He'd seen too many of his "colleagues" lose everything by having an engine blow out miles away from the coastline. It was one of his cardinal rules, and it had kept him in business up until this point. The "special modifications" to her engines alone had cost him more than the zeppelin itself was worth. He couldn't afford to lose them to the bottom of the ocean.

Shizzlegrin then downed the rest of the rotgut he'd been nursing in a single gulp and stood up from the table. Turning to Gryshka who had been standing near the bar with Morag, he said, "Thanks for the drink. I held up my end of it. I talked to them."

Gryshka glared at him, daggers forming in her eyes which the goblin recognized loud and clear without her having to say anything. If it were anyone else, he'd just give his famous grin and skidaddle on out of there. But it wasn't just anyone else.

"Look," He began to defend himself, "I did what I said. I met with them. But I really can't afford..."

Then a quiet, rich voice that was definitely not orc, spoke up and asked, "How much?"

Shizzlegrin then looked back to the Pandaren who was quietly sipping the tea Morag had brewed for him.

"What?" The goblin asked. "I just told you that..."

"Yes, you did. Your reluctance is understandable." The Pandaren calmly spoke. "But you are a businessman, yes?"

"Yes." Shizzlegrin responded in confusion, his grin fading as he wondered where the black and white furbolg like monk was going with this.

"All true businessmen are willing to negotiate risk for the right price. So my question then is how much?" The Pandaren asked as he continued to sip his tea far too delicately and deliberately for a creature his size.

 _Is he serious? Did he seriously just ask me to name my price? What kind of a special mark is this guy?_ Shizzlegrin thought furiously. His sense of economic and physical self-preservation wrestled with his innate goblin greed as figures came forcefully to his mind of their own accord.

Shizzlegrin started to breathe a little more heavily as the numbers came. The cost of repairing the zeppelin he had won in the card game. The cost of upgrading the original propeller driven engine with gas driven jets. The cost of reinforcing the hull. The cost of the fuel. The cost of his substantial profit from the endeavor. The cost of his lengthy retirement afterwards! Double that for good measure and negotiating room! All of it came racing to the forefront of his conscious mind.

"Ten thousand gold!" The words were almost forcefully choked out as the greed won out.

The monk's eyebrows raised as he heard the sum. It was the most emotion Shizzlegrin had seen betrayed by the Pandaren's face since he first laid eyes on him. The figure was astronomical for a zeppelin charter to anywhere on Azeroth and either the monk had to know that, or he was a bigger hick than the goblin had taken him for.

The goblin's eyes darted back and forth between the three prospective clients as they looked at one another. His forehead began to bead with sweat as some unspoken message passed between them. Strangely, he couldn't read the expressions on their faces. Being able to read people was a talent he prided himself on, but his own mind was too confused and unfocused at the moment at having to choose between the two things he loved most in the world.

Finally, the male orc spoke, his voice stern and grave. "That's outrageous. Do you really think any of us carry ten thousand gold coins on a regular basis?"

 _Of course it's outrageous! I'm a goblin you nit! You're supposed to haggle with me!_ Shizzlegrin thought forcefully, but held his tongue as the orc continued.

"Do you realize how heavy that is? None of us could stand up, much less walk with all that weight. Will you take a check?" The shaman then asked.

And the goblin took the index finger of his right hand and tried to clean his ear with it. He was certain he had heard wrong.

"What did you say?" Shizzlegrin asked again.

"Five thousand now, by check drawn from my account at the Bank of Orgrimmar. Five thousand more when we arrive safely." The shaman told him. "To be honest, your price was a little low. I told my friends here it would be twice that."

Shizzlegrin's legs went weak, and he had to sit down again. "Oh, I don't feel so well, now." He complained, one hand holding his forehead, the other his stomach. "Who are you people?"

"We leave as soon as you recover, goblin." The orc woman told him, grinning.

Shizzlegrin had gone straight from the inn to the bank across town. The goblin had actually been surprised when the bank had not only verified the check but transferred the gold into his own account without too many questions. There had been no name on the slip of paper the shaman had handed him, only a funny looking seal with the picture of a large war hammer against the head of a wolf in ink, and the number of the bank account to draw from. The goblin teller that he had handed it to seemed to know whose account it was by the surprised look she gave. She didn't give up that particular piece of important information however, even after Shizzlegrin had offered a generous bribe. He couldn't imagine what might have motivated her more than a bag of gold and his own good looks.

He could have just taken the money and ditched the three right there as he came out of the bank. Five thousand gold was a lot of money. He could live pretty well for a while after that without having to risk anything. The thought ran through his mind several times. After all, the gold in your hand was worth more than the gold you were only promised, right?

But it was a lot more gold, and the shaman already proved his checks were good for at least that much. They had to be either really desperate, or really stupid, or some combination of the two. Again, his greed won over his better judgment as he went back to the Broken Tusk and told his three new clients, who themselves seemed quite amazed, much to his offense, that he actually came back. He actually felt hurt at their lack of trust in his integrity.

Five thousand gold was on the line, and you didn't just drop that lightly.

On his battered but still serviceable trike (which he had built himself no less), they on the riding wolves favored by orcs, he led them out of the southern main gates of the city and, going off road, turned almost immediately west towards the Southfury River in the distance, expecting them to keep up.

Leaving the gates of the city, and its guards, far behind, he led them past a swine farm and then almost immediately turned right, heading into the red, rocky hills behind it following a narrow dirt road that was just barely wide enough for his trike's two back tires. His three clients rode their wolves single file behind him.

Up further into the hills, and well out of sight of any near the farm they had passed, the dirt road ended in a large circular building that had an oddly shaped roof the same color as the reddish hills around them. Instead of the conical, spiked shape which was favored by the architects of Orgrimmar, it was square, and had a rocky, uneven shape to its surface that they could see from the ground.

Having come to the end, they dismounted and looked more closely at the building. There appeared to be mechanical devices like hinges attaching the roof to the structure. Various crates, and parts from mechanical devices littered the ground. Metal cylinders with warnings and goblin markings on them indicating hazardous material were stacked haphazardly to the side of the building.

"What is this place?" The orc woman asked, wrinkling her nose.

"It's an old warehouse the pig farmer we passed used to own." Shizzlegrin explained. "Don't mind the smell, and watch where you step. It's going to take a couple of hours to inflate the airbag, so make yourselves comfortable."

"Inflate the airbag?" The orc female asked as though she didn't understand basic airship operations.

"Yeah." He explained as he led them into the darkened, dusty interior of the building. "You know, it's got to fill with gas before we can go anywhere. I can't keep it inflated all the time or else it would be too easy for the Bilgewater Cartel to find it, you understand. They don't like competition with their own zeppelin monopoly."

The goblin flipped a large switch on the wall and lights around the cavernous chamber which smelled terribly of oil, grease, and other chemicals the three couldn't identify began to flicker on. The sound of an oil fueled goblin engine sputtering to life echoed around them as they did. The lights glowed dimly for a few seconds and then came on with an intense brightness.

When their eyes adjusted they were able to make out the shape of what looked like a large yacht resting firmly on wooden supports. A massive cloth and leather material tarp appeared to be draped over it. As the goblin engine quit sputtering and came to run smoothly, another machine appeared to come to life, and what they had thought was a covering began to fill with air and grow in size.

"I've got some imported Cobo Cola in the back office cooler for fifty silver a bottle if you're interested. It's not quite as good as the old Kaja'Cola used to be, but it gets the job done." Shizzlegrin offered with a smile. Really, the price was quite generous, he thought, even if the cases did come off the back of a caravan.

Garrosh marched at the head of his army east down the white stone paved road. Behind him, several tauren soldiers carried a sealed wooden crate the size of a human. The warchief would have preferred to be riding the back of a good dire wolf, but none of the canine animals his men encountered in this soft and verdant land were even large enough to ride. Even the sleek, hoofed, grass eating horses the humans preferred to ride looked too small and delicate to support the heavily muscled frames of most of his warriors, much less his own. They were slaughtered instead and roasted over cooking fires to feed his men.

They had crossed the bridge from the human province called Westfall the day before and had made camp in and around some termite ridden ghost town of rotting wood the previous night. The town sat on the edge of an enormous graveyard which unnerved the more superstitious trolls that he had ordered be set on watch duty. That night had been filled with unnatural howls from the surrounding woods and hills. It had annoyed the warchief to no end. The following morning they had discovered dozens of those posted on watch duty, most of them the blue skinned island cowards, gone with no explanation.

Their desertion had not put the warchief in a good mood, neither had the loss of half the scouts he had sent out to report on the surrounding farms and villages. The other half reported back only with tales of abandoned houses, fields left untilled, and an empty landscape as though some force had come through and wiped out the human filth long before his army arrived. It made no sense to the orc. This stretch of wooded lands looked no different to him than Elwynn Forest's own plentiful province had, and that had been ripe fruit for the plucking. What happened here to make everyone just up and leave?

After marching for hours after dawn, he began to see the fires which he had expected. He had given orders for the troops from the Horde controlled Grom'Gol base camp in Stranglethorn Vale to meet them at the crossroads where the map showed the road from Stranglethorn met the highway which ran through the southern human province. According to that map, he and his columns of warriors were just now approaching that very crossroads.

As he and his troops grew closer, he could see that the soldiers around those fires were orcs. The men who had accompanied him came to a halt behind Garrosh as he gave the order to rest. He then continued through the encamped warriors, his own mass of muscle and flesh forcing those in his way back and to the side until he reached the center of the encampment.

His mood worsened as he marched through the new lot. There should have been twice as many soldiers as were present. As he observed them more closely, his anger built as he saw splints and slings. Bandages soaked in bload covered gaping wounds that healers were trying to close. Several of the men looked ashen pale, and so weak they couldn't stand.

 _What has Grom'Gol sent me? Their infirmary ward? I need fighting men, not their sick and injured!_ He raged inwardly as he looked for the leader Grom'Gol had sent him.

Reaching the center of the encampment, he sized up which was the orc commander in charge of the expedition. Storming over to him, he stood directly in front of his face and demanded an explanation from the orc whom he knew by reputation only. Clearly, the man was less than people spoke of him.

"I ordered your entire force north, Aggro'gosh. I only see half the men you were supposed to bring, and these are barely fit for anything." Garrosh scorned. "What were you thinking?"

The orc that was the target of his wrath looked his warchief dead in the eye, refusing to flinch. Garrosh might have even respected him for it if the circumstances had been different. The bags under Aggro'gosh's eyes betrayed his lack of sleep for days. The dark plate metal he wore was dented and stained with various colors of blood from recent fighting. The raven black twin braids that hung from the sides of his head were matted and frizzed. His own eyes betrayed a seething anger that was very near the point of boiling over.

"I started out with over a thousand, _warchief."_ His tone of voice bordered on insubordination. "We left Grom'Gol practically undefended because of my orders. Those we didn't lose from the predators and jungle fever that struck us moving north were killed Alliance troops just as we approached the crossing between the northern jungle and this cursed place. They ambushed us with small artillery from high up in the hills as we crossed the mountain pass. We broke through and wiped them out, but took heavy losses in doing it." The orc commander told him flatly, holding his anger in check.

"How many are left?" Garrosh, despising the excuses he gave, demanded a number.

"About five hundred survived the march north." Aggro'gosh responded testily. "As you can see for yourself."

"Watch your tongue with me wretch." Garrosh told him coldly. "Or you will join those of your men who were too weak to serve the Horde."

"Yes, warchief." The man responded. He looked as though he might say something more, then closed his mouth, his face taking on a confused and dazed expression.

"Prepare your men, I want to march east from here in thirty minutes. I want to keep warm tonight by the heat of Darkshire's funeral pyre." He ordered.

The orc commander nodded and, still in a fog, started giving orders to his men, injured or not.

Thirty minutes later, the Horde forces were marching again along Duskwood's main highway, the campfires extinguished. Behind them, a dozen warriors that had been too ill to march and whom the healers could not get to in time lay off to the side of the road. Either they would be strong and live, or they would not. Either way, Garrosh had no intention of slowing down for them.

Hours later, as the last rays of the sun began to die in the western sky, the frequency of abandoned and decaying structures they observed increased, but still there appeared to be no one occupying them. No lights of any kind, or any movement was to be seen.

In his frustration, Garrosh demanded loudly, "Is there no one to kill in this entire province?!"

Aggro'gosh who had taken up position near him in the column answered from behind his warchief, "From the stories I've heard come out of Booty Bay, most of the humans abandoned this province for Elwynn and Westfall after it was cursed years ago. Between the undead and the feral worgen that roamed it, it just became too dangerous. Most of those that remained stayed close to Darkshire. The only ones that still venture much into the western and southern parts of the province are adventurers and mercenaries, even after the change that came over it months ago. The undead are gone, but word is the wild worgen still roam the woods along with a few Gilneans that were looking to try and 'cure' them."

 _That explains a few things._ Garrosh realized, remembering the howling at night and the lost sentries.

 _Thwack!_ The next thing the warchief knew, a long slender shaft of dark wood streaked by and implanted itself in the Grom'Gol commander's forehead. The end of the shaft was decorated in dark blue hippogryph feathers.

Time slowed down for him as a rain of similar arrows appeared to come out of the darkened trees and abandoned buildings to either side of the road. They began striking down those troops behind him even as he easily dodged around those aimed for his own head, plucking some out of the air as he did.

"Sentinels!" The warchief bellowed as his troops began to fall behind him. "Take cover! Return fire!"

Immediately, his men scattered to whatever cover they could take but not before dozens of them lay dead along the white paving stones. Boomstick fire and arrows of their own were launched in the direction of their attackers.

 _Where in the twisting nether did these night elves come from?!_ His mind worked furiously as he continued to easily avoid those missiles aimed directly for him. He watched the direction the arrows were coming from among the trees and summoned the power which coursed within him and focused it into a single, destructive word.

The forest to south side of the road, and the abandoned houses to the north exploded in a conflagration and the arrows ceased for the moment as dozens, maybe even hundreds of azure skinned, armored kaldorei females mounted on equally armored forest cats leaped from the woods and onto the human made road. The three bladed glaives they fought with were out as they charged into the Horde forces.

 _Finally, someone to kill._ Garrosh was almost pleased as Gorehowl appeared in his hand. Instead of taking shelter, he stood his ground in the middle of the road as the sentinels and their clawed mounts charged at him.

Behind him and in the distance, the growls and roars of more beasts peppered the evening as his men found themselves surrounded on almost all sides. From the direction Darkshire lay, another unwelcome sound came that he knew from his birth home in Nagrand. Garrosh heard the sound of the large, smooth skinned, long tusked elekks stampeding towards him as well and with it the battlecry of the "holy warriors" of the other race that his own had shared Draenor with.

"FOR THE LIGHT!" Shouted the voices of hundreds of Draenei paladins.

Garrosh raised Gorehowl and set himself in a solid stance as he waited for the first of his challengers to reach him.

The first night elf to reach him bent low to strike him down with her glaive only to find Gorehowl waiting where her head had been. The next swing of the great battle axe severed her mount's spinal cord and the cat fell to the ground convulsing. The warchief then twisted, bringing the axe around again and a second sentinel fell, then a third, then a fourth.

"Come, elves! I challenge you! I am Garrosh Hellscream! Face me if you dare!" He yelled out as he continued to swing his father's blade.

Emboldened by their warchief's stand, the warriors of the Horde fought back the forest cats and bears that seemed to come out of nowhere only to find a kaldorei male laying dead on the ground when one was felled.

"Druids!" The cry went out as they now understood the enemy they were facing. Troll and tauren druids immediately responded by shifting forms and attacking their Alliance brethren on equal terms as horned Barrens lions and brightly colored troll cats pounced on their night elf counterparts.

As the stampede of elekks drew closer, Garrosh called out to his men, "Sunwalkers to the front!"

Hundreds of long horned tauren paladins in full, bright plate armor emerged from among the other troops, obeying their warchief's command. Huge war hammers at the ready, they charged the elekks, wielding the light of _An'she_ against their own draenei counterparts.

The night elf sentinels fought viciously trying to land a killing blow on the warchief. Azure skinned warriors leaped from their mounts, firing arrow after arrow in mid leap. But the orc warrior moved faster than even their own elven reflexes could. He was a whirlwind of dark steel and death as sentinel after sentinel and their razor clawed mounts fell to his axe.

The fires in the forest and among the empty houses spread until the entire forest around them was engulfed in searing flames. Animals and soldiers of both sides alike fled from the burning trees and brush back up onto the road as the fires intensified.

Garrosh however did not move. With the confusion and panic that the fires caused, he used the time to focus his power again and lashed out at the remaining night elf warriors, sending missiles of pure, powerful energy at them which they couldn't dodge.

The flames of the burning landscape around him danced in his eyes as he unleashed more and more of his power on those that dared to oppose him. They became as insects and vermin to him as he swatted and squashed them under his boots.

"IS THIS IT?!" He yelled at the Alliance forces. "IS THIS THE BEST YOU CAN DO AGAINST GARROSH HELLSCREAM?!"

Then, almost without thought, he reached his hand out to one of the draenei paladins that fought on the back of an armored elekk some twenty yards away and made a gripping motion. Putting his power into it, he then yanked his hand back and the paladin was jerked off of his mount and into the dirt. Garrosh then struck the air with his fist as though delivering a powerful punch to an enemy and the elekk mount was thrown to its side dead.

Drunk with the new power he discovered, he bellowed out to the night, "BOW BEFORE ME, ALLIANCE SCUM! KNEEL BEFORE THE HORDE!"

As though struck down, unwillingly and by some unseen force, each of the remaining Alliance troops dropped to their knees from where they had stood and remained there as though their knees were pinned to the ground.

The Horde forces that remained wasted no time in taking advantage of their enemies' sudden failing. Draenei and night elf heads were severed from their bodies as the fires raged and danced around them.

When the last Alliance soldier fell, a cry was taken up among the surviving Horde troops, and the warchief reveled in it as they repeated his name over and over in adulation, "HELLSCREAM! HELLSCREAM! HELLSCREAM!"


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

The day had been warm and somewhat humid in the port town on the coast of the Hillsbrad Foothills when a vertically standing, ovoid pool of energy opened near the reconstructed dock of Southshore. A small party of people had been waiting nearby in expectation as the sun crept high directly overhead.

Southshore had been chosen for the meeting because it was one of the few remaining settlements in the reborn kingdom of Lordaeron to which living Alliance mages might open a portal. There were still those in Ironforge that could picture the destination clearly enough to create the link between the two places.

Anduin Wrynn stood among that party in a white shirt buttoned up only partially from the heat. His sleeves had been rolled up from working with the carpenters in the late morning after making rounds among the ill and frightened with the aged but virile Brother Cassius. If one did not know him, there would have been nothing apparent to set him apart from the common laborer or priest except his regal stature and bearing. There had been a few that had urged him to make himself appear more regal or kingly to the envoys, but he laughed them off.

"King of what?" He would ask them. "King of the orphans in tents?"

Next to him stood the Sindorei queen who had acted as protector to himself and his people. The little girl called "Ally" clung to her leg in fear as she watched the fabric of space itself seem to tear open a few yards in front of them. Beside her stood the tall death knight, Arete, and the orc ambassador Eitrigg who, as Anduin had come to speak with him, had been a voice of reason and morality. It was he, the king-in-exile had learned, that had encouraged the former banshee queen to rescue his people, and thus it was partly to this gray bearded orc that his people owed their lives. A four man squad of death knights flanked the regal greeting party, though Anduin was certain that they would not be needed for anything other than show.

The first to step through the portal was Anduin's friend, Muradin Bronzebeard. It came as no surprise to him that the dwarf had worn his full armor plate bearing the sigils of his people as though he expected to fight. His thick, heavy banded war hammer and battle axe were strapped loosely to his back. He eyed the welcoming party with a wary and stern eye and then moved out of the way. The next to come through was Moira Thaurissan, queen regent of Ironforge. These two were followed by a kaldorei woman wearing the armor and uniform of a sentinel general, and a draenei warrior armored as an exarch of his people. This last carried a parcel wrapped carefully in royal blue mageweave cloth and bearing a royal seal. The night elf and draenei representatives also cast appraising eyes on their hosts, noting the presence of the small human child as well, but whether that appraisal resulted in approval or disapproval was theirs alone to know.

The portal then collapsed in on itself and closed as though it was never there. The two groups stood eying one another uncomfortably, and tension was heavy in the air as the memories of past conflicts and abuses came to the minds of both. Neither said a word for several minutes.

"Anduin, lad!" Muradin was the first to speak, approaching his younger friend.

The death knights around them began to move until Sylvanas held up her hand to stop them. They stepped back immediately on her non verbal command.

The bronze bearded dwarf came up to the unadorned human king and pulled him down to his level for an embrace, which Anduin returned warmly.

"It's good to see you, Muradin. I'm glad you're here." The human told him.

"Oh aye, now I can see wha' you've been tellin' us with me own eyes." Muradin told him as he released his embrace, his eyes taking in the scene of the town under construction. "I'm glad it wasna' a delusion you'd been havin'."

"Muradin Bronzebeard, Moira Thaurissan, Shandris Feathermoon, and Admetius, you are all welcome here in Lordaeron as representatives of your peoples." Sylvanas announced stiffly, her voice tense and controlled. "And you will all be treated with respect as befitting your stations while you are here."

"Och, what's that doing here?" Moira demanded rudely as she pointed a dark gloved finger at Eitrigg. "Do ye regularly have a Blackrock _orc_ in yer entourage then?" She said the word "orc" as though describing a bowel movement.

Eitrigg grunted something rude under his breath about Dark Irons in response, but otherwise let the comment slide.

"Eitrigg is one of those responsible for planning the rescue of Stormwind's civilians." Anduin spoke up quickly, stepping forward. "He's a good, and honorable man, and has chosen to work with us against Garrosh Hellscream."

"An orc work against his warchief? Och, now I've seen everythin'!" The dark iron queen responded glibly.

"If you don't believe me, Moira, you can ask Highlord Tyrion Fordring who calls Eitrigg brother. He'll be here with us later this afternoon." Anduin told her patiently.

"I don' know who..." Moira began to retort.

"Peace, lass." Muradin then told her, turning to face her. "If Anduin vouches for him, then I've no quarrel. And I know the Highlord from the fight in Northrend. He's a good man, that one. He'd not call anyone brother 'cept a man who'd proven himself."

Eitrigg gave a slight nod of respect in response.

"So, are we all just gonna' stand around insultin' one another, or can we do it sittin' down at a bar over a pint o' two?" The Bronzebeard quipped, trying to break the tension. "Steppin' through a portal is thirty work."

"Of course." Sylvanas replied, maintaining a cool, regal demeanor, as she turned and gestured towards a large building undergoing repairs to the left of her on the west side of the main street. "I've had the council chamber of the old town hall here specially prepared for our talks. I trust you'll forgive the dust and noise of the workers."

"Let me ha' a few pints, and I'll forgive most anythin'." The dwarf responded in jest.

"I'll… see what we can do." She responded, unsure of the dwarf's tone.

As the combined party then made to go down the street, the draenei exarch then approached Anduin and stopped him, bowing slightly in respect.

"Your majesty," he began formally, "it is with great condolences that I present these to you." He then held out the large square box which he bore.

"What is this?" Anduin responded as he received the gift.

The parcel was heavy as it was handed to him, and felt as though it were made of wood underneath the magecloth. Upon further inspection, he saw that there was a smaller, velvety bag attached to the top of the larger parcel.

The exarch spoke with a low and respectful voice, "I am sorry to tell you we found your father's remains in the ruins of the city. From what we could tell, he fell with honor in combat. We honored him with all the respect and dignity we could afford under the circumstance. I now present you with his ashes, the shards of Shalamayne, and his royal signet ring. They are rightfully yours now."

Anduin's eyes began to water, but he held back the tears in a manly fashion and he returned the slight bow of respect. "My thanks, Exarch Admetius, to you and to your people for your courtesy and honorable treatment of my father."

The rest of the company observed the proceedings, but said nothing out of respect for the son who had lost his father, and the fallen kingdom that had lost a good king. His inheritance in his hands, Anduin then straightened up and continued towards the structure Sylvanas had indicated.

The rest of the regal company then followed him up the packed dirt "street" that served as the town's main road, passing carpenters sawing boards and hammering them into place. Nearby, the sound of a blacksmith's hammer rang out against an anvil. Children could be heard faintly beyond this, in between the blacksmith's strikes.

They turned left and up the freshly cut wooden steps of the town hall. Upon entering, it was evident that this building had received the least amount of attention by the restoration workers as the smell of mold and old wood wafted through the air. They passed through the entry foyer, and the secretary's chamber and into the main meeting hall of the former administrative building.

In the center of this, a long, rough hewn wooden table had been set up and chairs of equal quality had been positioned around it. Pitchers and bowls of fruit had been laid out along it in between bronzed candelabras which had been lit to provide more light. Along the walls, human women wearing serving uniforms stood waiting to be called upon.

Upon entering, Sylvanas called to one of the women and discreetly spoke to her, giving instructions that the rest could not hear. The serving woman moved off quickly and out of the building in response to her Lady's request.

As each member of the company took a seat, the serving woman returned with a large pitcher of ale and several mugs which she placed in front of the dwarven delegates, Muradin and Moira who sat next to one another.

"Och, thank ye, lass!" Muradin responded as he took the pitcher and careful poured himself a drink. "'Tis much appreciated."

"Aye, 'tis welcome it is." Moira agreed, joining him. "Though I may need somethin' stronger before this day is done."

When they were all seated, all eyes in the room, even those of the elven queen whose lap was now occupied with the human girl, turned to the human king who sat opposite her at the other end of the table, and who was still dressed as a common laborer. The parcel containing his father's remains sat on the table in front of him.

Anduin then took a minute to compose himself before standing and addressing them. "Thank you, all for agreeing to meet like this, especially in light of our historic differences." He began. "It has been a long, long time since representatives from all of our races have been able to meet peaceably, and always in the face of a common enemy, as we do now. Sindorei," He nodded to Sylvanas, "reborn human, orc, dwarf, night elf, draenei, and of course, myself," he mentioned nodding to each person whose race he mentioned. "Followers of both the light, and the shadow, peoples of the forest, and of the mountain forges..."

"Yes, yes, we all know where we come from, let's cut to the chase, shall we, lad?" Moira then interrupted to stern looks of warning from the rest of the table. To which she responded, unchastised, "What?"

Anduin just smiled at the rude interruption and continued, "We all have a common enemy that threatens us, and is even proving to be a threat to his own people." The king-in-exile nodded to Eitrigg. "None of us can sit and do nothing."

"We didn't." Sylvanas responded flatly from her seat across the table. "If it wasn't for us, your people would all be dead."

"I know, and my gratitude continues for this without measure." Anduin replied sincerely.

"If it was just the Horde ground troops, we wouldna' even be havin' this conversation." Muradin spoke up. "We've fought against them for years, even at time by their side when the need's arisen. The Dark Irons ripped apart the Blackrocks with their own battalion of seige tanks just a few days ago."

Eitrigg nodded in response, apparently untroubled by the report of his clan's demise, "Agreed." He said. "The problem is not my people, but the warchief himself. If it wasn't for Garrosh, they would not even be in your lands right now and none of us would be here discussing it."

Then the night elf general, Shandris spoke, her own voice even, "A single druid fled the battle for Darkshire in order to report to us what had happened. At first we thought him delusional when he told us stories of how the Horde soldiers appeared to be under some kind of mind control, or that the warchief had moved faster than the eye could see when he fought and slaughtered dozens of my sisters by himself, and how he caused the forests and buildings around him to erupt into flames with a single word. The last thing he saw from his flight overhead was our own remaining forces being forced to their knees before him, a strange golden white light shining brightly from his right hand."

Then Sylvanas looked down at the table, breaking eye contact, and then looked towards the death knight Arete and a silent communication passed between them. The others seated around the table took notice.

"Do ye know something about this, elf?" Moira then questioned the queen directly. "You and your death knight friend there?"

Sylvanas glared at the dwarf queen, unused to be addressed in such a rude manner in her own lands.

"You will hold your tongue and address the queen as 'your majesty', dwarf!" Arete then snapped at Moira.

"Och, shut your trap, death knight." Moira replied. "Or have ye forgotten I'm a queen in my own right? Shouldn't ye be callin' me 'your majesty'? I'm addressin' one of equal rank to me self, ye black armored dolt."

Sylvanas then gave a half smile at the dwarf woman's feistiness. "So he should." She then responded, nodding to Arete.

"My apologies, _your majesty._ " Arete corrected himself.

"So back to my question, then. Do ye know somethin' about this power he's gained, or don't you?" Moira continued.

All eyes at the table then went to Sylvanas who appeared to be calculating her response carefully. Finally, she said, "It's called the Golden Flame."

"The Golden Flame, what's that? I've never heard of it." Muradin responded.

"It's an obscure myth among my people, going back to before the first cataclysm which tore Kalimdor apart ten thousand years ago." Shandris spoke up. "There are few who have heard of it, even among my people who lived through those times."

"It's no myth." Sylvanas then told the council firmly. "One of our own discovered it in Kalimdor and used its power to destroy the recent blight and restore our lands and people across Azeroth. He and his wife were charged with its secret and safe keeping. Arete and I agreed to keep their secret hidden."

"So that's how your 'rebirth' happened!" Muradin exclaimed loudly. "None of us knew for certain how ye all transformed yourselves somehow. We knew it had t' be somethin' powerful. A lot of hearsay and strange stories came out o' Northrend those months ago."

Arete nodded. "I was there in Dalaran with my men fighting to free the city. It happened like a great wave of golden light washed over us. One minute I was a walking corpse, the next I possessed living flesh and blood again."

"It didna' just change you o' even Dalaran, though now did it? We all experienced that wave! It washed over the whole bloody world! The power behind that Golden Flame of yours must be..."

"Limitless." Sylvanas finished for her. "The combined Golden Flame gives the bearer the ability to alter the nature of reality itself, allowing them to have any wish or request they make granted. Those that had been chosen to bear and use it had been tested to the point it nearly killed them to prove themselves worthy of handling it."

"And now Garrosh Hellscream is in possession of this artifact?" The exarch asked, weighing the consequences of what he had just been told. "If it is as powerful as you say, why does he go through all the trouble of a ground invasion. He could merely wish our people extinct and it would happen."

Sylvanas nodded. "My source tells me that somehow the warchief learned of its existence and was able to extract it from its bearer, but when he did so, the Golden Flame split into its three components called the Triforces of Power, Wisdom, and Courage. Each smaller piece bonded itself with the person closest to it that most believed in its individual virtue. My spy tells me that Garrosh, unsurprisingly, received the Triforce of Power. For this reason, though the power and new abilities this gives him are great, without the other two pieces, which we believe he doesn't yet know about, he can't just cause whatever wish he makes to happen. Our information is that he had just barely learned to use this one prior to the attack on Stormwind."

"And these other two bearers? Where are they now?" Anduin then asked, hearing this story for the first time himself. "Could they be the key to stopping the warchief?"

"We believe one has been captured. He had volunteered for a mission to extract and recover Garrosh's piece during the battle of Stormwind, but he never returned. Before that, he told me that the other, original, bearer had been teleported to Pandaria after her injuries from Garrosh's ambush. That was weeks ago." She told them.

"The one who was captured, which piece o' this artifact did he have?" Muradin asked.

"Wisdom." Sylvanas replied. "His wife, an orc warrior, holds the Triforce of Courage."

"And she's the one in Pandaria?" The dwarf asked again after taking a long draught of ale from his mug. "Well that doesn't bloody well do us any good with her down there, now does it? Has anyone tried checkin' on her, or even sendin' for her to join the fight 'gainst the bastard?"

"We don't know where in Pandaria she is. The mage who was captured would not tell us, only that she was unable to join the fight because of her current condition." Arete answered.

"Her current condition? How badly injured was she?" Shandris then questioned.

"He wouldn't say." Arete responded.

"What I want to know," Moira then began again, her voice genuinely angry, "is why the bloody hell ye didna' see fit to tell any of us this when all this began! Instead ye kept it to yourself up here in the bloody north while leavin' the rest o' us to our fates!"

"We risked hundreds of our own people to evacuate Stormwind!" Sylvanas shot back. "We opened so many portals I was told it would like be flashing a welcome sign to the burning legion!"

"But ye still didna' even warn the rest o' us o' what we be facin' now did ye?" Moira retorted, unimpressed. "Ye rescued the wee bairns like the one ye been carrying about since we 'rrived, but then didna' stop to think that the rest o' us might need to be told a thing or two?"

"And why should we have? What did we owe you, dwarf? What kindness or favor did your people ever show mine?" Sylvanas demanded from her, her expression growing increasingly icy.

With the queen's own expression the temperature around the table appeared to drop as former resentments and sins came boiling to the surface on both sides. Seeing this, and getting the feel of things, the Bronzebeard representative then spoke up again, trying to put things into perspective.

"Aye. Ye didna' owe us anythin', lass, that's true." Muradin took a deep breath then sighed, as the table turned to him. He then said. "We did ye no favors during or after the plague tryin' to take your lands and resources from ye. You did the people here in Hillsboro or those in Gilneas no favors either when you bloody near wiped them out to make more of your Forsaken soldiers when ye were one." He then gestured to Eitrigg, "Orcs rampaged through Khaz Modan, and our people returned the favor in Durotar and the Barrens. There's no one's people here at this table that doesna' share some blame somewhere for somethin'. I get why ye didna' think to tell us, your majesty, an' I'm thankful you're at least tellin' us now."

"It's true," Eitrigg then spoke up after having remained mostly silent for the discussion. He addressed the others at the table, "My people committed crimes against all of yours at one time or another that we told ourselves were necessary if we were going to survive. Maybe they were, maybe we could have found another way. It was all we knew at the time. Settling in Durotar was warchief Thrall's way of us atoning for those crimes. That was something Garrosh never understood."

"What sins I committed, I did for my people." Sylvanas then said. "The blood on my hands was to protect them and their lands."

Anduin then added, "Can any of us say we would have made different choices if we would have been in each other's shoes? What's done is done. If none of us let go of the offenses which have been committed against us and let the past remain the past, there is no way any of us can move forward. I think we can all agree that we want what's best for all our peoples; that we all want them to have a future that isn't wrought with this continuous fighting that has torn this world apart for decades."

"Agreed." Eitrigg was the first to say it.

"Aye, lad. I'll agree to that." Muradin joined him.

Sylvanas nodded her head in agreement, as did the night elf and draenei delegates.

"Och, I don't want my people slaughtered if that's what ye mean, lad." Moira finally said.

Anduin then continued, trying to build off their mutual agreement. "Then let's agree to bury these offenses in the past here and now, and work together to ensure that future. Let us all agree to amnesty and pardon for each other's people regardless of our past histories."

Anduin then turned to the draenei exarch, "Admetius, I understand you have the authority to speak for the Exodar?"

"I do." He confirmed.

He then turned to Shandris, "And you, General, for Darnassus?"

"Yes. The High Priestess has granted me such authority for the purposes of this meeting." She told him.

"Ambassador Eitrigg, I understand you have been in contact with Warchief Thrall?" The king-in-exile asked, knowing full well that Eitrigg had told him so earlier that morning. "I understand that he trusts your judgment in such matters?"

"I have." Eitrigg confirmed for the others at the table. "And he does. Thrall has always wanted a peaceful future for our people. That was his purpose in building Orgrimmar. Once we remove Garrosh Hellscream from power, the rest of my people will follow our true warchief, of that you can be certain. But I cannot speak for the tauren or the trolls, or any of those now under Garrosh's spell. If Baine Bloodhoof and Vol'jin are still among them, they are not acting of their free will."

Anduin nodded in acknowledgment of these facts. He then turned his attention to Sylvanas Windrunner, the woman who, realistically still held the most power in the room at the moment, and had the most to lose as his eyes glanced down briefly at little Ally in her lap.

"I then propose that we, here today, all of us forge a new Alliance, forgetting those things in the past, and reaching forward to our mutual future on this world." He then said.

Anduin's mind had been preoccupied with this notion over the previous few days, especially after studying and translating the Pandarian works that he had been engaged with. The basic problem of his world was that as long as its people refused to let go of the past, it would continue to spiral further and further out of control until they had accomplished what the Burning Legion never could. They needed a shift in their thinking, a new paradigm to work from.

"And just who would lead this new Alliance of yours, Anduin? You as some kind of high king?" Sylvanas then asked, testing him.

"No. We would rule it together as a council of equals. We would come together peacefully to find agreement and work our differences together, respecting one another's rights and lands." Anduin explained, then looking at Eitrigg he said, "all of us."

"It's a lovely idea, lad." Muradin remarked. "Except you're forgettin' the reason why we're all here in the first place, and that's to stop this bastard orc's genocidal march through our lands. Once we accomplish that, then we can talk more 'bout this dream o' yours."

But Sylvanas continued to stare at the young king, almost as seeing him with new eyes.

"I agree," she then said, though did not say with whom she agreed. "What is it that you want from us?" The elf queen asked him.

Anduin caught the subtle change in her expression and her eyes and knew he had reached her in some small way. He then began to lay out the strategy he had been working on.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

The goblin's "modified" zeppelin was unlike any airship Shaggara had ever ventured on. The upper deck on most zeppelins she had traveled on was much like that of a sailing vessel, open and exposed to the wind and the elements. A normal zeppelin, even those outfitted to make runs to the frozen lands of Northrend, was little more than a light trading ship to which some engineer had attached a massive air bag, engine, and propeller.

Shizzlegrin's vehicle was another thing altogether, and that fact became obvious the more she had watched the giant balloon inflate two days before. The upper deck was entirely enclosed by a sleek, aerodynamic metal shell. A transparent window, conformed to the curvature of the shell could be seen towards the fore of the ship. Three other such windows lined both the port and starboard sides of the craft. Large triangular fins protruded around the hull of the silvery, metallic vessel running with the flow and direction of the ship's lines. Outlines of rudders, flaps, and aerilons could be seen along the bases of the fins. When the airbag was nearly inflated, the engines of the craft were revealed, and while she had seen similar such machines on goblin inventions before, she had never seen them that size, or that elegantly designed as they too seemed to curve and flow with the streamlined air craft from the conical nozzle intakes to the exhaust ports in the rear, as did the inflation neck which protruded from the aft of the ship like the neck of a graceful bird.

Shizzlegrin must have seen the astonished look on her face, because he came and stood next to her as she viewed the ship, his expression full of pride. "Beautiful isn't she? I did all the custom work myself. At lower speeds she's as maneuverable in the sky as a wind rider, and at full speed she's faster than anything except maybe the wind itself. She can even sustain controlled flight for a short time if she loses the airbag. It'll be on a mostly downward arc, but it'll still be _controllable_. I call her the _Daisy May_ after an old girlfriend of mine. She burned hot and fast too!"

Shaken from her stunned look at the vehicle by the goblin's crude comment, she had replied, "It's an impressive zeppelin."

"So..." The goblin had then begun, drawing out the "o" in a casual manner, "you mind telling me now where we're going? I've still gotta make sure I've got the fuel for the trip, and I've gotta make sure I set the right course when we start out. Once she really gets going at full speed, it's going to be tough to turn her around."

Shaggara had then looked to Thrall. The truth was she hadn't known where to go next. Her first thought had been to head to Stormwind to meet Garrosh in battle head on, but Thrall had counseled against it for the moment, saying that they still needed more allies, and he knew where to find them.

"The south coast of the Hillsbrad Foothills in Lordaeron. It's a small port town called Southshore." Thrall then revealed to the goblin.

The goblin had then scrunched his face in confusion as it looked like wheels were spinning in his head. "Why on Azeroth would you want to go there? And why all the cloak and dagger? That's Forsaken territory. Of course, they aren't 'Forsaken' no more are they? I'll have to check my charts on board for the town though. I don't know if my maps of that side of the world are up to date, seeing as I never go there in her."

"The town's been there for decades. It should be on your maps unless they're hundreds of years old." Thrall had replied. "We much reach Southshore in two days."

"Two days?" The goblin had nearly choked. "That's… that's..."

Then the expression had changed on his face as the new engineering challenge he had been presented with took root. "Well, yeah, maybe… let's see…" He pulled out a notebook and a short pencil and started writing in it furiously.

"Yeah, we'll have to burn fuel hot and heavy, and take a lot extra but I think she can pull it off without exploding." He had then said, almost nonchalantly as he continued to look at his notebook.

"Wonderful." Shaggara had remarked drily.

"You folks think it's possible to pick up pure hydrogen gas in Southshore? I can convert it from seawater, but it would make my turn around time faster." The goblin then inquired to confused responses.

All of that had taken place two days before. The gas burning jet engines of the vehicle behind them had ignited with a high pitched whine before settling into a loud, dull roar that was only partially dampened by the layers of metal and wood in between them and the passengers. Once the vehicle had begun to accelerate quickly, Shaggara, Thrall, and Guozhi had been pushed back into their seats hard for what seemed like an eternity until the inertial forces finally released them and they were able to move again.

For those two days, the three of them had been largely confined to the marginally comfortable passenger seats behind the goblin's control station directly in front of the transparent window Shaggara had seen. The half circle panel of buttons, switches, and flashing lights wound around the goblin's leather padded pilot seat. Gone was the pedal apparatus that had been standard equipment on the zeppelins she had traveled on before.

"Why pedal start the engines when I can use a switch, a battery, and a motor to do the work for me?" He had commented when she had mentioned it. He had then added, "I spent some time in Area Fifty Two in Netherstorm back in the day working with Scooty and the boys. I picked up a thing or two there and brought it back with me. The problem with all these Cartel jokers is that they've got no imagination for invention or engineering any more. All they care about is how much money they can squeeze from honest goblins like me. Don't get me wrong, I'm all about money same as the next goblin, but there's just no creativity any more." There had seemed a real sense of lament in his voice as he launched the craft through the retracting roof of the old warehouse.

Besides the passenger seats and the cockpit controls, there was a small galley, bed rack, and liquor cabinet crammed into the aft of the cabin leaving only a minimal amount of walking space under a low ceiling that was clearly not designed for races larger than the goblin's own.

During those two days of transit, as the earth, sea, and sky passed rapidly beneath and around them, Guozhi continued his instruction of Shaggara that he had begun in front of his small house in Pandaria. Without the room to spar, the large black and white Pandaren monk instructed her in the art of breathing meditation and focus.

Remembering the words of the Hyrulian Sage, Impa, Shaggara followed the Pandaren's instructions without protest, and opened herself to his gentle teachings on balance and cooperating with one's chi.

"The energy of life within us is not a tool to be used and abused like a sword or a hammer, honorable Shaggara." He had told her. "It is the part of ourselves that connects us to all living things. Chi moves through each of us, and we must learn to listen to its still small voice. It is only then that it comes to be our partner and friend, as we also understand how it connects us to one another."

Thrall, who had been listening to the Pandaren's instruction, had remarked thoughtfully, "You speak of this chi energy as though it were an elemental spirit, such as a shaman communes with."

"I do not have such wisdom about such spirits as you do, honorable Thrall, but if I understand what you are saying, then yes. It is very much like that. Chi must remain in balance within, its flow unobstructed, for one to remain healthy of mind and body. This is accomplished through letting go of ourselves, forgiveness, and compassion."

"Forgiveness and compassion?" Shaggara had then questioned. "I thought your people trained to fight." The evidence of which she had experienced from him firsthand, and had seen "expressed" on heavily armed Kor'kron guards.

"It is a common mistake to equate compassion with weakness, honorable Shaggara. Our first rule is to do no harm. There is gentle compassion which seeks to express lovingkindness to others through sharing one's food or possessions, to give kind words and kind actions. And then there is fierce compassion, which seeks to express lovingkindness through setting boundaries for ourselves and others. In this latter case, we must weigh doing no harm to the individual's body with doing no harm to his spirit and that of all living things connected to him." Guozhi told her.

Shaggara considered this within herself. It was not the orc way, or at least it was not the way which her people had practiced for decades. To fight and to struggle was heavily ingrained into an orc's consciousness and psyche. An offense committed meant revenge against the offender. Serious debts were settled with blood.

But this way of thinking was what gave rise to Garrosh Hellscream and those who followed him. It had never been sustainable, and had led to the fracturing of the orc clans early on in their history within Azeroth.

"How?" She then asked. "How does one begin this… compassion?"

"One must first be compassionate and forgiving of one's own offenses, before one can be compassionate and forgiving to another, honorable Shaggara." The monk replied. "For this, one must look deeply within and be honest with oneself. Meditation is but a tool one might use for this purpose."

The spiritual conversation was interrupted by the goblin's voice loudly speaking as he tried to make himself heard over the din of the engines, "Hey, I don't want to barge in on your pow-wow back there or whatever you're talking about, but I've got start the _Daisy May's_ slowdown procedure. According to my charts we just crossed the Gilnean Peninsula. You folks are going to need to strap yourselves in."

Remembering the hard acceleration, the three passengers quickly obeyed, buckling the leather and chain straps attached to their seats around their waists and across their chests. Shaggara alone left her own waist belt off, remembering that it was not just her life at stake any more. The next thing they knew they were being slammed hard against those straps as the engines and flaps of the zeppelin braked hard against the inertial forces of their forward momentum.

"Okay..." The goblin said, concern creeping into his voice as buzzers began to sound an alarm on his console, and red lights began to flash, "nothing to worry about, we were just going a little faster than I normally push her. She's just not liking it as well as I had hoped."

The craft began to shimmy and shake violently, and they could hear the sounds of cables snapping. A loud klaxon then began to sound and a large crimson light began to flash furiously.

"Damn!" The goblin then swore as he worked furiously on the controls to maintain stability, but nothing appeared to be working. Finally, in frustration, he pounded his right fist on a huge red button on the console and outside of the vehicle could be heard small but loud explosions all around the hull. The tremors and shaking of the craft then subsided.

"Uh..." He then said, "Remember what I said about her being able to sustain a controlled flight without the airbag? Well, we're about to find out if that's actually true!"

"What?!" Shaggara shouted back in alarm.

"I've got to find someplace we can use for a runway to bring her into! Only problem is that she doesn't have landing skids anymore!" The goblin shouted back as his hands continued to work furiously over the controls.

"Can this thing still float on water?!" Thrall then shouted, remembering that after all was said and done, it was still basically a boat with a balloon.

"I don't know! I haven't tried!" The goblin responded.

"Try to bring it down over the water! I will help as the spirits are willing!" Thrall then told him as he unbuckled himself from the seat.

"What?! Are you crazy, or what, shaman?!" The goblin retorted.

"Just do it!" Thrall shouted back.

"Okay!" Shizzlegrin replied in spite of himself, moving the controls to angle the craft gradually downwards towards the sea beneath them.

The tall orc made his way back to the hatch and the ladder through which they had entered the cabin of the craft. He climbed the ladder and, turning a locking mechanism, popped open the small door. Thrall then climbed through it and held himself on the ladder as he surveyed the scene around the slick surface of the zeppelin's exterior.

The airbag was completely gone. Thrall could see no trace of it, and he assumed it had been lost a ways back. Behind them the sun was setting in the western sky. To their left was the Lordaeron coastline. To their right and in front of them were miles and miles of open sea. Strangely enough, the goblin's array of winglike fins were doing well at stabilizing the craft and keeping it in the air even without the lost balloon.

The wind whipped and rushed around him as though an old friend come to greet him, and he smiled. In spite of the dangerous circumstances he felt a peace as the voices of the air elementals around him spoke words of greeting and respect to the powerful orc shaman.

He returned that greeting and respect as he focused his own energies, raised his arms to the skies, closed his eyes, and called out to them, "Spirits of the winds around us and of the seas beneath, hear my plea! Come to our aid and grant us safe passage and landing!"

He then waited patiently for their response. It was not long in coming. The winds began to flow more smoothly under the belly of the aircraft, providing it a gentle, but firm lift. Thrall could not see it, but he could feel the waters beneath begin to respond as well, preparing to receive the strange vehicle as it descended towards them.

Shizzlegrin piloted the craft down towards the water's surface, doing his best to keep the nose of the airship up. The last thing that he needed was to ram nose first into the water at full speed. Then he'd lose his beautiful ship for certain. Then, without warning, the ride began to smooth out as though something were holding his boat up in the air and gently bringing it down a little at a time.

"What the…?" Shizzlegrin exclaimed. "What's going on out there?!"

As the craft came closer to the water, a wall of waves on the sea jumped up to meet it and took the place of the air currents as it cradled the airship in the rest of its descent, trying to slow it down even further, though the ship's powerful jets fought to break free of the embrace of the waves.

"Kill your engines now!" Thrall then shouted to the goblin beneath him.

"Right!" The goblin agreed without protest and began flipping switches and turning dials.

The loud din of the jet engines died as the wall of water brought the craft down smoothly to its surface, large jets of water feathered out to its side as it continued to slow down, but it remained buoyant. Finally the craft settled fully on the surface of the water, still carried forward by its previous momentum, but gently as though a sailboat being pushed by a light breeze.

Shaggara then unstrapped herself, trying to process everything that had just happened. She got up from her seat and went to where Thrall still stood on the ladder, his eyes closed, but mouth still moving as she made out the words on his lips, "thank you, my friends."

"How? How did you do that?" She asked in amazement at the display of his shamanic powers.

Thrall then opened his eyes and looked down at her. With a tired, almost paternal expression, he answered, "When you respect and assist nature and the elements, they respect and assist you, warrior. The druids will tell you the same. I did little but ask for their help, and they granted it. What we must always remember as shamans is that they do not have to, and be thankful for when they do."

It was nearly evening when the fair haired soldier wearing mail and crimson "reborn" livery entered the council's meeting room unannounced with urgent news. The disparate members of Anduin's council had been deep in strategy and negotiations when he burst through the doors to the large chamber of the old town hall.

"What is this?!" Sylvanas demanded from him so loudly that Ally shivered and clung to her armor tightly. "I ordered no interruptions!"

"My apologies, my queen! But a strange goblin ship has just pulled up to the dock! The passengers wish to speak with you immediately!" The soldier answered fearfully, remembering what it meant to incur the elf queen's wrath.

"What passengers? Who are they?" She demanded from him.

"There are two orcs, one looks to be dressed as a shaman, the other is a woman wearing scaled armor like I've never seen before. A third is a large pandaren in monk's clothing. The orcs swear that you will know who they are!" The soldier spoke quickly.

Sylvanas thought quickly and then commanded, "Bring them directly here immediately. Treat them with every courtesy."

"Yes, my queen!" The soldier responded and then went quickly to obey.

"Who d'ya think they are, your majesty?" The Bronzebeard dwarf at the table asked. "Were ye expecting somebody else?"

Sylvanas then looked to Eitrigg who nodded at her in reply.

"Is there something the two o' ye would like to share with the rest o' the class?" Muradin asked again warily.

Thrall, Shaggara, and Guozhi stood on the docks waiting. Six armed soldiers stood in front of them. Their weapons remained sheathed, but it was clear they would wait on further word before permitting them to pass.

Shizzlegrin remained working in his airship, occasionally climbing out of it to open a panel back near the engines as he ran tests and checks. He appeared unperturbed by the presence of the soldiers as he continued pulling panels and using strange box like meters and cables on the wiring and circuits of his craft. The ship itself floated comfortably and well on the surface of the water next to the dock, a line of unused cable had been used to tie off the mooring.

Thrall had been true to his word and written out a second check to the goblin for five thousand gold pieces, payable from the Bank of Orgrimmar. The goblin still had to somehow return to the orc city to cash it, but that was a minor detail as he carefully folded the slip of paper and put it in a hidden pocket within his vest.

As the powerful orc shaman had handed it to him, he said, "Here, goblin, you fulfilled your end of the contract, now I will fulfill mine."

The goblin had looked at him blankly when he did so. "You're actually keeping your end of the deal?" He had asked in near disbelief.

"Of course. My word means something to me." Thrall had responded, taking little offense. It wasn't his first dealing with a goblin.

"Weird." Shizzlegrin replied as though it were a new concept to him and one he had to ponder. "Well, okay then. Good doing business with you!"

A bemused expression crossed the shaman's face as he considered the recent exchange while waiting with the others on the wooden dock.

The fair haired soldier returned and motioned to the three newcomers. "Her majesty has agreed to see you. Please, follow me. I will take you to her." He told them as the other guards stepped aside to allow them to pass.

They followed him up the dirt road which ran in between the buildings which were still clearly undergoing reconstruction and renovation, though the workers had apparently retired for the evening. He then led them into a large building. A ruined clock tower projected from the southeast corner of it.

Taking them through the foyer and the former secretary's chamber, he brought them into the larger former town meeting hall. A wooden table had been set up, and those sitting around the table appeared to represent most of the races which now inhabited their world.

At the opposite end of the table, at the left of where the elf woman Thrall had welcomed into the Horde under very different circumstances sat, another orc with gray beard and hair and keen intelligent eyes stood and saluted with his fist over his chest.

"Warchief." The aged orc spoke with respect. "It is good to see you in person again."

Thrall returned the salute to his old friend. "And you, Eitrigg. It has been far, far too long."

As he looked around to the others at the table, stunned expressions greeted Thrall and his companions. Several of the others seated around the table looked at each other as though to confirm what their eyes were telling them. His attention became drawn to the little girl clinging to the former banshee queen and he wondered what the story behind her was. He also observed the fair haired son of the late king of Stormwind dressed as a commoner at the proceedings, and knew he should speak to him concerning his loss at some point in time. His father deserved that much honor at least.

"I see we have much to discuss." The former warchief of the Horde then told them as he drew back his cowl to reveal his bright green, strong facial features and balding scalp.

"Indeed we do." Sylvanas agreed from the other end of the table, her eyes then coming to rest on Shaggara. "It is good to see you again as well, Hero of Azeroth." She told the orc woman, using the title that the mage Gereth had told her of.

All eyes at the table then went to the orc warrior woman.

"Show them, please. There was no way to keep the secret hidden any longer." Sylvanas then told her. "Not with everything that's happened."

An anxious look appeared on her face, and then a look of betrayal. But Shaggara then shoved both emotions away from her as she held up her left hand and balled it into a fist, turning it to reveal the back to those at the table.

And there, in the dimming light of the council chamber, shining brightly through her dragonscale gauntlet, a golden white triangular mark on the back of her hand was revealed for all to see.

"Aye." Muradin then said. "I'd say we're going t' be here for an awfully long time for this orc lass's story. Moira and I are going t' need another pitcher o' ale."


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Fires raged unchecked throughout Duskwood for days, laying waste to the forested landscape and purging it of the decayed and rotting wooden structures which peppered the province. Great clouds of brownish yellow smoke filled the air and choked the lungs of everyone, man or beast, for miles. Wolves, spiders, bears, and other animals fled for any refuge from the fires they could find. The town of Darkshire was wholly engulfed in the conflagration that first night as building after building burst into flames from the explosion of the warchief's wrath.

The Horde troops that had survived the ambush themselves had difficulty finding a safe place to make camp as their own shamans and mages worked tirelessly to calm the fires enough around the open square of the burning town to give them a place to rest and recover. The spirits of fire which had been awoken by the warchief's magic were uncooperative to the call of the orc and tauren shamans and did not want to be shackled and held back from their destructive path.

But the warchief himself was unmoved by the plight of either the beasts in the forest or even that of his own men.

After the battle was over, Garrosh himself remained silent for some time and deep in thought at the events which had transpired. When his people came to him for orders, he would give a half-hearted assent to their requests and wave them away as he stood otherwise alone amidst the chaos, staring at the bodies of the night elves and draenei warriors that had attacked them seemingly from nowhere.

His gaze would move between the headless Alliance warriors on the ground that had surrendered themselves at his command alone, to the fires that burned around him, and then to the back of his right hand to stare at the unequal three triangle mark.

The unconditional surrender of the Alliance force, them dropping to their knees, had surprised everyone, including Garrosh himself. He had been in the throes of the bloodlust, the joy of the kill when he had demanded that they kneel before him. He hadn't actually expected them to _do_ it. The realization came to him that it had only happened because of the relic he bore.

 _Every word I speak is now a spell or command which cannot be disobeyed._ The thought continuously came to the forefront of his consciousness as he tried to wrap his mind around it.

After a while of wrestling with the idea, he decided to test it. Looking around at his surroundings, a building was still in the throes of a raging fire. It looked as though it might have been an inn or maybe someone's large house. Deciding this would be a good test, he stretched out his right hand to it and commanded the flames, "Cease!"

Immediately, the fires within the building died out and were extinguished.

Not satisfied, with this test, he then turned and addressed the spirits of flame which had engulfed the rest of the town and demanded, "Be gone from here!"

The town of Darkshire then became still as the Horde shamans and magicians wondered in amazement. The fires had jumped from the buildings to join their kindred spirits in the nearby forest and brush, but did not touch the blackened and charred wood and stone structures again.

 _Even the elements must obey my command_. He thought to himself. A small spark of fear crept into the back of his mind as he began to understand the further extent of the power he now wielded. It was overwhelming as it wormed its way through his mind and conjured up images of his lost father drinking the blood of Mannoroth and enslaving his clan to Gul'dan and the Burning Legion's service.

"I am not him!" He then shouted into the air, his resolve hardening. "I am not my father!"

And then he smashed down hard on the spark of fear and extinguished it.

 _I am Garrosh Hellscream! I fear nothing!_

"I will be no one's slave!" He shouted into the wee hours of the morning.

Then, looking to the back of his hand he said, "Not even yours, relic. I command you, not you me."

A small voice in the back of his mind then responded, almost imperceptibly, _Of course._

The Horde warriors near their warchief glanced at him in surprise and not without some fear as he appeared to cry out to no one, and then began talking to his hand. Garrosh had led them to victory after victory in the human lands. There was no question about it in their minds. But those victories had been paid for with the lives of many of their comrades.

The tauren chieftain, Baine Bloodhoof, and his troll counterpart, Vol'jin stared at the orc warrior turned mage with great concern as they stood near him in the square for those few brief moments. They had been busy directing the firefighting efforts, and seeing to their own warriors injured either by the ambush or by severe burns from Garrosh's wrath. In truth, neither knew why they had even agreed to follow him on this campaign, much less bring their own warriors on what had appeared to them, even at first, to be a suicidal run by a madman. Garrosh had refused to see reason long ago.

When the flames had suddenly ceased around the town's buildings and the two chieftains were able to make a count of their dead and injured, there were less than a thousand soldiers left capable of fighting. The tauren and troll warriors had suffered the brunt of the casualties as they had been the first line against their Alliance druid and paladin counterparts.

At noon of the second day, a small force of a few hundred orcs came marching down the road from the east of the town. As they came into the town and joined their Horde brothers-in-arms, Garrosh was livid at the sight as he charged up to the commander of the Stonard troops and knocked him off his riding wolf to the ground.

"Where have you been, filth?!" The warchief demanded, snarling at him and grabbing the orc by the throat. "You were supposed to have come through the pass yesterday! We were ambushed by Alliance dogs!"

Surprised, humiliated, and exhausted, the orc responded fearfully to his warchief, "We left Stonard five days ago after receiving your orders, warchief!" A tremor shook his voice which enraged the warchief all the more for the man's weakness in front of him. "It was… Deadwind Pass! We left Stonard with fifteen hundred troops! We are all that are left!"

Garrosh then looked again at the "fresh" troops from Stonard and did a mental estimate. There couldn't have been more than three or four hundred men. Bellowing in rage, he then threw the man back to the ground hard, the orc's head hitting the stone pavement of the ruined town with the sickening "thwack". Only the helmet, forged from thorium ore, that the orc wore saved his skull from being bashed in by the cobblestones of the square.

"Is every orc on this blasted world soft?!" He shouted. "Have you all forgotten what it means to be an orc and serve the Horde?! Weakness is an abomination! Only the strong are fit to rule!"

"We had to leave the sick and injured in the pass!" The Stonard commander sputtered, coughing badly. "Many were taken by spiders the size of a full grown orc! Others were touched by floating blue lights and fell where they stood! Deadwind Pass is cursed still!"

Garrosh glared at the orc on the ground hard before he said, "Good. That means we won't have to leave them behind here. Order your men to rest for the night, we march tomorrow at dawn for the Redridge Mountains."

Smoke from the burning trees continued to fill the air and invade the lungs of the men. Hacking and coughing could be heard throughout the night accompanied by the groans of the severely injured and dying among the Horde troops scattered around Darkshire's remains.

Baine Bloodhoof moved from warrior to warrior around the square and in the makeshift infirmaries to stand with his tauren brothers and speak words of encouragement to them, asking them of their families, and doing his best to keep their spirits and hopes alive. Vol'jin did the same, assisting his own people wherever he could, speaking to them of the Echo Isles and the traditions of their people. Sleep was impossible for either while their men endured the pain and suffering that they did. With the woods around them burning, it also became impossible for their healers to find the herbs they needed to make the soothing healing concoctions which would ease the pain and speed the relief of their men.

"I fear we are dead already, and this is our punishment for our sins." Baine remarked in a low voice to Vol'jin as they met up again.

"No, mon," Vol'jin had responded in a grave voice, "I have spoken with da lord of da dead, and he would be kinder to us dan dis."

Baine silently agreed with the troll chieftain.

As the sun attempted to rise through the thick, brown haze in the eastern sky, both chieftains approached Garrosh, knowing what his likely response would be. After having discussed it through, they both thought it better to risk the warchief's wrath than betray their remaining men by continuing to march.

"I've lost too many men, and those I have remaining are too injured to continue. We need to remain longer for them to recover before we can continue the march." Baine told the warchief matter of factly, the tall, muscular tauren warrior standing eye to eye with him.

"And it's da same for us. Most of da bodies on da road are troll corpses." Vol'jin added.

"We can follow behind the main force once the healers have finished their work." Baine told him. "Better for us to delay a few days and heal than to lose the rest of our fighting strength."

Garrosh's expression was one of disgust as he stared at both of them. "Fine." He then said to the both of them, much to their surprise. "Go, be a wet nurse to your soft, whining children. The true Horde does not need such weak fools as you. Orcs will finish what orcs have started… and then orcs will deal with those who betray them."

Garrosh then gave the orders for his remaining troops to move out, marching north along the road which led towards the Redridge Mountains, leaving the surviving tauren and trolls behind in the smoke filled charred ruins of the human town. In all, he left Darkshire with just around a thousand warriors, all of them orcs.

As the two remaining Horde chieftains watched the columns of soldiers march into the distance, the warchief at their head, they both felt like a fog was being lifted from their minds and they surveyed the hellish scene around them as if with new eyes. Rage began to build within the two chieftains as the destruction and violations which they had been forced to partake in came crashing down on them. They both came to the same conclusion as if with one mind.

When their men had recovered, Garrosh Hellscream would pay dearly for what he had done.

It was the wee hours of the morning when the Council of Southshore concluded its tense session of negotiations, catching up, and new revelations to most of those present. Accusations had been thrown, arguments had been made, and resolutions proposed, but in the end all those present came to agreement on what had to be done in the immediate present.

After much personal deliberation, Sylvanas sent couriers that night rushing throughout Lordaeron and Quel'Thalas with orders calling for volunteers from among her own people to fight. She had chosen to be a part of this new future of which the idealistic and hopeful Anduin spoke, but knowing the resentments she herself still wrestled with, she would not order her people to fight against their will in the cause of defending the southern kingdoms. Either they chose to put the past behind them as well, or they chose not to. Human, elf, it made no difference to her any longer. They had all been Forsaken and had become a strange kind of huge extended family of brothers and sisters for that reason. As Forsaken they had treasured their free will, and guarded it fiercely after having had it taken from them by the Lich King. Neither of these facts had changed when they had all been reborn.

As she sat on the bed next to her, watching Ally sleep in the bed she was to share with her in the inn still undergoing restoration in Southshore, the elf queen felt a kind of pain within her stomach and chest at the knowledge of what she had to do. She could not ask for her own people to volunteer to fight, and not lead them into battle herself. It was not who she was, neither was it who she had ever been.

But she had never had another so small and dependent on her before either.

As she looked once more at the sleeping little human girl in the simple nightshirt, she wanted to crawl into bed next to her, hold her tightly, and not let go. She found herself wanting to take her back to Lordaeron City, let Arete or one of the others lead the charge, and forget all of this ever happening.

But she was the queen. Her people depended on her too. They, they lives, and their futures were her responsibility as well. How could she truly lead her people or claim any right to rule if she was not willing to share in the fates of the men she commanded?

 _But then who can I trust with keeping my daughter safe_? The thought flashed through her mind.

She physically straightened up as the thought struck her, and she repeated the words out loud. "My daughter. I don't even know your real name. How can I call you my daughter?"

 _Is that what she has become to me in this short time? Not a refugee, not a ward, but as dear as though she were my own?_ Her feelings became confused as she watched the sleeping child and began to stroke her hair with her fingertips.

There came a knock at the door to her room, and she felt annoyed that someone would dare to disturb her at this hour.

"I do not wish to be disturbed." She said loudly and tersely at the closed wooden door, afraid of waking the child next to her.

"Your majesty, I need to speak with you." Came the alto voice of the orc warrior woman whom, Sylvanas knew, was the key to putting an end to this madness.

"Come." Sylvanas relented but made no move to rise from the bed. As the door opened, the queen added, "Make it quick, I have preparations which must be made before tomorrow comes and the sun is not far off."

"Where is Gereth?" Shaggara demanded without ceremony. "I heard nothing but references and whispers since I arrived."

Had anyone else taken that tone with her, the queen would have made certain to correct their lack of respect. But, being who it was, and circumstances being what they were, she was no longer in the mood to put the orc warrior in her place.

The queen let out a deep, tired breath. "He led an expedition to Stormwind to attempt an extraction of the relic from the warchief during the attack. The extraction failed. The last the mages who were with him saw was him engaging the warchief directly to allow them to escape. If he is not dead, he is certainly Garrosh's prisoner."

Then the orc woman's left hand went to her stomach as though involuntarily. Pain and anger flashed through her eyes.

"I should have been with him." She then said, a rage building in her voice. "He should not have left me in Pandaria."

"He told me you were in no condition when he left to fight anyone. Those were his exact words." Sylvanas told her, sensing something strange about the way the orc woman's hand remained across her bare stomach muscles under the dragonscale woman's breastplate.

"That human fool!" Shaggara spat. "He left me there because he was told I am pregnant! Such things do not handicap orc women like they do humans! He should never have sought to face Garrosh alone!"

 _Ah, now I understand his reasoning and reluctance to say more about her "condition"._ The elf queen thought to herself.

"Perhaps not." Sylvanas agreed. "According to the night elf, Garrosh had his men carrying a coffin sized wooden box behind him during their attack. It may have just been supplies, but the warchief may be keeping him alive and carting him with them for some reason."

Shaggara absorbed this information, trying to reason through why. "Perhaps he means to use him as bait for me."

"Maybe. But this is truly all I know, Shaggara. Now please, as one mother to another, I have some decisions to make." Sylvanas then told her, dropping her hardened personage for just the briefest of instants, and looking back towards the girl on the bed.

Her words caught the orc woman off guard as her eyes passed between the elven queen and the human girl. She did not know the story behind their relationship, or how such a thing could be, but she nodded, her palm still resting on her own stomach. It was a stark reminder to her that she had more than just her own life to think about now.

The orc woman backed out of the room and closed the door behind her, leaving the elven queen to her thoughts.

Sylvanas turned her attention back to the little girl and asked the sleeping child the question again, "Who can I trust you with, little one?"

After much internal struggle and debate, Sylvanas Windrunner made up her mind. She called for a mage to open a portal to Silvermoon. She and Ally would be taking a short trip that morning.

"I'm glad you came, sister, though I must apologize I wasn't prepared to expect you." Vereesa Windrunner told her elder sister as they sat together in a parlor in Sunfury Spire. The younger Windrunner sister's skin was fair and flawless like her older sister's, though her hair was a silvery white like the moonlight.

The two had embraced warmly upon the queen's arrival to the elven capital. Vereesa's twin boys, Galadin and Giramar had been with her at the time, and remained with them as Silvermoon's Lady-Regent gestured for her older sister, her face so uncharacteristically unsure and emotional, to accompany her into a side parlor.

The parlor was decorated richly in azure blue and purple. A large bowl of fruit sat on a table in front of the couch where the two sisters sat. Two boys, about eight or nine years old with reddish hair and tapered ears, though not quite as long and tapered as their mother's, nor with as refined elven features, stood nearby.

"I cannot stay long, as you know." Sylvanas replied. "But I am glad to see you, sister, if for only a few brief moments."

The little human girl sat comfortably on Sylvanas' lap, though she had been eying some white grapes since they had arrived. The elven queen had dressed her quickly, and her clothes were not as neat as they had been the day before.

"I know. The call for volunteers has gone out through the city and all of Quel'Thalas as you requested." Vereesa replied, to which Sylvanas nodded. "I am surprised to see you paying me a visit under the circumstances." Her attention then was once more directed to the human child who seemed to so long for the grapes, but was unsure of leaving the elf woman's lap to get them. "I had heard rumors of a little girl you had adopted, but you never mentioned her in any of your messages."

"Adopted, yes." Sylvanas answered quickly, testing the word. "Yes, I adopted her. She is a survivor of the attack on Stormwind. We… have bonded with each other."

Vereesa smiled at her. "I think that's wonderful, Sylvanas! She's so pretty for a human child," then addressing the little girl directly, "aren't you, little one?"

The little girl did not answer, but looked up to the silver haired elven woman who looked so much like the woman she had clung to, her eyes hesitant but hopeful. Vereesa waited for a moment, but when the child said nothing she turned her attention back to her sister.

"She does not speak, has not spoken since Stormwind fell." Sylvanas explained.

"What do you call her then, if she cannot even tell you her name?" Vereesa asked.

"Alleria." Sylvanas told her. "After our sister."

"Ally would like that, I think." Vereesa replied, remembering their oldest sister, lost to the fighting in that other world of Draenor.

She noted her sister's apparent vulnerability at the moment. It was so strange, so out of character for the strong ranger-general that she had sought for so long to emulate, that she wasn't certain how to respond to or help her.

"She is why I have come, sister." Sylvanas then began to explain the reason for her visit. "I must lead our people into battle."

"And war is no place for a child." Vereesa finished her sister's thought.

"You are the only one I would trust with her care and safety. You are already a mother, and you are my own flesh and blood." The queen told her. "And you are staying here to look after the rest of our people. Those others that I might consider trusting are going into battle with me."

"Of course, absolutely, sister. She will be safe with us here in Silvermoon. I swear it." Vereesa responded. It was the only answer she could give.

Sylvanas nodded. She then pulled back her cowl, revealing her full head of long golden hair and long, tapered elven ears. She turned the human girl to look her in the eyes with her own green tinged elven ones as she spoke to her.

"Ally, you need to go with Vereesa for now. She will take good care of you until I return, child." Sylvanas told her. "She will be your aunt now."

A panicked, terrified expression came over the little human girl's face, and she clung to the queen fiercely. "No!" She cried. "No! No! No!"

Surprised and unsure of what to say or do, Sylvanas tried to gently pry the little girl's fingers from her cloak and armor. "I have to go away for a short time, Ally." She tried to tell the girl. "But I will come back."

"NO!" The little girl screamed, tears flowing freely as she began to sob again.

Tears then began to well in the elven queen's eyes as well, as she continued to gently try and remove the girl from her. "I have to. I have a duty to my people."

"MAMA, NO! MAMA, DON'T GO!" The child screamed into Sylvanas' shoulder.

The tears in Sylvanas' eyes began to fall freely at the child's pleading with her and she then wrapped her arms around her and hugged her fiercely and protectively. She gently kissed the top of the little girl's head as she held her.

"I don't want to, little one." She whispered to her. "I don't want to at all."

"Mama, stay, please!" Ally sobbed. "Mama, stay!"

"I can't." The queen protested weakly. She then tried to look the girl in the eyes again, gently bringing the child's head back so that she could see her face. "But I promise you, Ally. I will come back. Do you understand? I will come back."

Ally continued to cry, but her little fingers let go of their grip. "Please, don't go." She protested again. "Don't want you to go."

"I will come back to you, Ally. I swear it." She told her again, hugging her gently and kissing her forehead one more time before handing the distraught little girl to her younger sister.

With tears in her own eyes, and running down her cheeks, she then pulled the cowl back over her head, and steeled herself as she removed herself from the room without another word to anyone.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

The sun was beginning to set in the fields north of Southshore, just south of the outcropping of jutting hill known as Corrahn's Dagger. Sylvanas Windrunner, Anduin Wrynn, Lord Commander Arete, and the others who had attended the Council of Southshore waited for the response to the elf queen's summons for volunteers. The one exception to these was Thrall, who had, at dawn, requested the use of a gryphon and had flown north into the mountains, keeping his own counsel on why. Almost a dozen mages waited with them as well, standing ready to open portals into the Burning Steppes for what, if any, soldiers might respond to their queen's "request".

Nearby, at a crossroads between the highway that ran through Hillsboro and the road that led north into the Alterac Mountains, the half caved in remains of a white stone Alliance watchtower sat as a silent sentinel and testament to that province's tumultuous history over the grassy fields. Mountain lions and wild horses had, at one time, roamed freely across this land north of the town. Those that remained however kept their distance from the two legged intruders having remembered the damage their weapons could do.

The queen's face was a hardened mask of steel. If she had any feelings or emotions running through her heart and mind, they had been buried so deep, not even Arete who was the closest to her could read them. She stood erect and resolute as the deadline drew near that she had given. Her clawed gauntlets once again adorned her hands, her bow and twin blades were secured firmly to her armor. She was, once more, a general awaiting battle.

The message had gone out to her people in the morning by mage couriers using portals to the various towns, cities, and settlements across Lordaeron. Those that responded were to do so immediately, and the mages that had been sent were to open portals for them to this location. Once more she was pushing the ley lines and limitations of magic to their breaking points. There would be consequences at some point, but, once again, the needs of the immediate present outweighed them.

The question on everyone's mind, and not a few whispering lips, was, "How many will come if not directly ordered to?"

As the sun began to dip into the western sky, an ovoid pool of bluish energy opened on the plain. Those gathered together then all turned to see who would respond to the elf queen's summons first.

A silver armored boot with gold trim stepped through the energy portal, followed by equally shining plate armor leggings and breastplate. They were worn by a noble looking man with silver hair and beard. His face, once ruggedly handsome, was now lined with wrinkles and the cares of a hard life of fighting demons both without and within. On his back was held a sword oft only spoken of in whispers and legends as its history was traced from its mysterious forging with elements from Draenor and wielded by a mighty paladin against the scourge, to its corruption by the murder of a father by a son, to ferocious death knights, and finally to be redeemed and cleansed in the hands of the paladin who now bore it, _Ashbringer_.

The paladin stepped away from the energy portal, surveying the gathering until he found a face both welcome and familiar to him. Marching straight up to the aged orc, he embraced him as a brother, slapping him on the back good-naturedly. "Eitrigg, brother! It's been too long! You should have come and visited in Hearthglen!"

"I was busy, brother." Eitrigg responded, returning the embrace. "It seems my counsel has been needed more than my axe these days."

When they were done, the paladin then turned to face the golden haired elven woman who wore the royal blue cowl and cloak over her armor. "Highlord Tyrion Fordring, reporting as requested, _your majesty_."

There was something about his tone when he addressed her that she couldn't quite place, but she said nothing about it. "You are welcome here, Lord Fordring. How many men have accompanied you?" She asked.

"Direct as always, I see." He responded. "See for yourself." He gestured towards the portal with a silvered plate armor gauntlet. "We would have flown, but I don't keep that many gryphons in my roost."

Sylvanas turned her eyes to see soldier after soldier, humans and not a few orcs alike emerge from the portal all wearing similar silver and gold plate armor and bearing the sigils and standards of the Argent Crusade. When the portal finally closed, there were easily almost two hundred troops standing in formation, waiting for orders.

"The Argent Crusade is at your disposal, my queen." Tyrion told her.

Sylvanas nodded, her hardened mask cracking with the surprise she felt at his generous response. "Why?" She asked.

"I served Lordaeron once upon a time, before the darkness fell over her. I do so again, now. I heard tales of your evacuation of Stormwind and what you risked for them. I'll gladly serve under any queen the light has touched so that she's willing to do so much for those who cannot repay her." Tyrion responded, then genuflected and knelt before her, and the men and women under his command followed suit.

While this was happening, the sky became filled with the screeches of gryphons in black armor. Near the assembled Argent soldiers, over a hundred such animals landed, their riders outfitted in deep black plate armor, wicked spikes over their shoulder plates, their eyes glowing with the pale blue of the magics of death. The sigil of the Ebon Blade was imprinted on their breastplates. They dismounted from their war steeds and proceeded to take one knee along with those light filled soldiers to their sides.

Arete then turned to his queen, smiled, and said, "The Knights of the Ebon Blade reporting as requested, my queen."

"I did not order this, Arete." She told him, her voice approaching a scold.

"And neither did I." He responded as he took a knee next to the Argent Highlord. "They came of their own free will, as do I, my queen."

Then more portals began to open across the field, and more troops began to pour out of them. Elven rangers took a knee next to their captains. Human men and women in battered but serviceable chain mail, leather, and plate armor with newly sharpened weapons moved in and took the knee alongside these.

And then from the north, the sounds of hundreds of paws striking the paved road was heard. As she turned to see who else was coming, her mask broke completely and she watched, utterly stunned as over a hundred orcs outfitted for war riding huge frosty white wolves joined the growing army. At their head, Thrall rode astride a great, savage looking white canine. Those others near her were equally shocked and amazed at the sight.

The orc warchief approached the queen and said, "Drek'Thar sends his regards. The Frostwolf Clan respectfully requests to join the hunt and reclaim the honor of our race from those that would defile it."

"The Frostwolves would never so much as speak to us before." Sylvanas responded. "Much less send us their aid."

Thrall nodded. "Change is in the wind, Sylvanas. We go to fight for a new future for all of us. The Frostwolf Clan wants to be a part of that future."

She nodded, granting his request, and the orc warriors and shamans took their place with the other forces that had answered her call. As the portals continued to deliver the response of the provinces and towns, the lines of troops and their mounts began to fill the fields in front of her. Paladins knelt beside death knights, and Elven Rangers knelt beside human warriors, soldiers, and farmers who had responded to her call, who themselves knelt beside the orcs of the Frostwolf Clan. They did not dismount and kneel, but instead raised their fists to their hearts in salute to the elven queen. The orc warrior woman, Shaggara, their "secret weapon" went to stand with Thrall and his clan. She also raised a fist to her heart in salute.

Her Pandaren companion bowed to his friend, but then took a place close to the other soldiers. Shaggara saluted Guozhi as well in understanding. The main force would need all the healers it could muster, and she had a different role to play than he did.

Sylvanas Windrunner, queen of Lordaeron, had merely asked for volunteers to fight, and all of Lordaeron and Quel'Thalas had responded.

"Bloody hell, Falstad's late." Muradin then swore. "They were supposed t' be the first ones here. Now we've been shown up by even these orc bastards on their bloody white wolves from the north."

Shaken out of her amazement she turned towards the Bronzebeard. "What are you talking about?"

"Falstad and his Wildhammers, they were supposed t' be here an hour ago." Muradin replied. "We had a surprise for you, though whether or not you'll think it welcome is up to you."

"Surprise?" She asked, confused, "What surprise?"

"Och, I canna' tell ye that, otherwise it wouldna' be a surprise now would it, your majesty?" Muradin responded cheekily. "But, er, I hope you don't mind now that we didna' exactly pull _all_ of our forces out o' your lands like ye asked Anduin's Da' so politely."

"What do you mean?" She asked, eying him warily though not surprised at the revelation.

"Well… if they get here on time, let's just say ye won't be needin' your mage portals, now will ye?" He responded cryptically.

The elven queen glared daggers at the impish grin the dwarf bore under his bronze colored braided beard. Mixed emotions of angry betrayal and stunned appreciation for the dwarves' duplicity rose up within her and she shook her head trying to bring herself back to the present.

She then turned back to the soldiers and warriors that were arrayed in front of her, kneeling in fealty and service. So many had responded that she could not quickly count them. Her estimates placed them somewhere close to a thousand fighting men and women.

Then, from the southern road, coming up from the refugee camps of Southshore, about a hundred men wearing the blue and silver armor of Stormwind marched towards Anduin Wrynn who had been standing near the queen. They halted and took their places next to the other troops.

Their leader, a silver haired old veteran whose previous encounter with the queen had been less than dignified, approached Anduin and knelt before him. "Stormwind's remaining forces are at your command, my king."

Anduin nodded, placing his hand on the man's head. "I accept, Colonel, and I transfer you and your men to the command of Queen Sylvanas Windrunner of Lordaeron for the duration of this mission."

Hesitantly, the man responded, "As you command, your majesty."

The Stormwind Colonel then rose and turned to the elven queen, speaking to her crisply and professionally he saluted her, "As of sunset today, the remaining Stormwind legion has been transferred to your command, your majesty, how may we serve?"

"You are welcome among us. Stand with your men, Colonel." Sylvanas instructed the man, remembering his humiliated and terrified face from the evacuation.

But he paused for a moment, and then spoke to her further, the discomfort in his voice obvious. "I never said 'thank you' for saving our lives, your majesty." He then straightened up and said in a sincere voice, "Thank you."

Sylvanas nodded, honoring the man's gratitude, and he went to stand with his men. Then as one, they too took bent the knee before her.

Looking towards Anduin, Shandris, Admetius, and the other leaders who stood with her, they gestured back to her indicating that this was her operation. What troops that the draenei and night elf commanders could bring to the battle still remained in Stormwind holding their position at the ruins and caring for the survivors of Garrosh's genocidal run through the human kingdom.

Sylvanas then straightened up and addressed the soldiers, rangers, knights, and warriors that were arrayed in front of her. Her voice rang out clear and commanding, only the faintest tinge of emotion lent an edge to it.

"I want to thank you all for responding to my summons." She began. "I made it clear to my commanders and regents that you did not have to. I too still harbor resentment and anger against the southern kingdoms for their abandonment and betrayal of us for all these many years, but feeding on that anger will not help our kingdom grow again. It will only poison us, and sicken us further. We have all been given a second chance in the rebirth, and it is a chance, an opportunity that I call on all of Lordaeron's and Quel'Thalas' people to take! As the sun goes down over this land today, we go to fight so that a new world may dawn upon us. Not just upon Lordaeron or Quel'Thalas, but upon all of Azeroth. We fight so that orcs and humans, draenei, elves, and dwarves, and all the races of our world may finally live with a lasting peace! We fight for a new future where our children may grow up to something other than this constant 'warcraft' we have practiced for decades! We fight so that the light may dawn upon an Azeroth free of the old hatreds and fighting that sickened our world. We've gone down that road time and time again, and what has it brought us? Pain, suffering, and unending death! Today we take a new path, a new road for all of Azeroth! Today we take the high road! Will you stand and fight with me for this new world?! Yes or no?!"

As one thunderous voice that shook the nearby hills and fields those gathered together responded with a tumultuous "Yes!"

And then a sound like thousands of horses thrummed from the distant eastern sky. It came closer quickly as though a fast moving thunderstorm. As those present turned to see what new thing interrupted the inspirational moment, a dark speck appeared on the horizon and sped quickly towards them, growing large and larger as it did. The thunderous sound it created grew louder and louder.

"What in the name of the Holy Light is that?" Lord Tyrion swore, and then his eyes went wide and so did his grin as the thing came fully into sight.

"Och, finally!" Muradin then said. "Took him long enough, didn't it?"

There, creating huge gusts of wind from its four enormous propellers that held it aloft was a massive, heavily armed galleon. A golden eagle's head adorned the bow. Four huge, swiveling cannon turrets were at the four corners of the ship's deck. These were joined by an arsenal of twenty stationary guns on either side of the ship. The closer the airship came, the more majestic and powerful it looked.

"I thought the _Skyfire_ was still in Pandaria!" Anduin yelled at Muradin to make his voice heard over the din of the aircraft's blades.

"Aye, lad, she is!" Muradin responded grinning from ear to ear. "That's the _Skybreaker_! She's been at Aerie Peak for the last several months undergoin' a major refit! Falstad was checkin' on her to see if she was flightworthy yet for the upgrades Mechatorque an' his boys gave her! She should give the _Skyfire_ herself more than a run for her money these days, or so they tell me!"

Sylvanas looked at the massive aerial warship with anger. She then turned to face the dwarf and shouted at him, "You kept this in my kingdom without my consent?!"

"Aye!" Muradin replied unashamedly.

A grudging half smile broke out against her will over her elven features. "Well done!" She finally said, as the craft circled to an open patch of field and extended enormous landing skids to set down for the troops to board her.

"Thought you'd appreciate the surprise a little more now." Muradin quipped.

"How many passengers can she safely handle?!" Sylvanas questioned, looking over the enormous monstrosity of a vehicle.

"She'll be running on a skeleton crew. Just as many as we needed to be bringing her, so at least most of these lads and lasses here! Though to be honest, we didna' expect so many either! Ye may need those mage portals of yours yet!" Muradin replied.

In the barren, volcanic plain of the Burning Steppes, near the twisted remains of tents and splintered siege machines, several bluish white portals of arcane energy unfolded themselves into existence. They emerged just north of the twisted metal gates, resting broken on their hinges, which had been meant to guard the pass to the human populated region to the south. One by one, Black armored gryphons and their riders raced from the portals, launching themselves into the darkened night skies above.

Behind them, as the Knights of the Ebon Blade launched themselves into the welcoming darkness of the night which was their natural home, frosty white wolves and their orc riders emerged and took in their hot, dust and rock filled surroundings.

"I can't believe the Blackrock Clan would settle here." One of the Frostwolf Clan warriors remarked, beginning to long for the ice and snow of their Alterac Valley home.

"I can. The Blackrocks were foul scum even before we left Draenor." Another, older warrior remarked sharply, observing the remains of the aforementioned clan's camp. He spat at the banners of the orc clan. "Good riddance."

"Eitrigg is Blackrock Clan." Thrall said as he pulled up next to the warrior in question.

"Then he is unique among his people, son of Durotan." The old warrior told him.

"So the humans have said of too few of orcs no matter what their clan." Thrall reminded him. "We fight for a better world, brother. Those Blackrocks that survived this massacre will have to live in it too."

The old Frostwolf warrior grunted in response, but said no more as their own riders were gathered from the portals.

"We have twelve hours until the _Skybreaker_ arrives with the rest of our forces. We ride to secure the Blackrock Pass. These here," he gestured to the decomposing remains of the grayskinned orcs on the ground, "were only the reinforcements to those Blackrocks already encamped beyond the pass to the south. We talk first." He told his clan's warriors.

"What if they don't feel like talking?" The same old warrior, streaks of gray running through his long braided beard, asked.

"Then we do what we must. They cannot be allowed to join Garrosh's troops coming up from the south. It would put the human town in a vise from which there would be no escape." Thrall told them all. "Do you understand?" He questioned them.

"Yes, warchief." The orcs responded respectfully.

"What do you ask of me, warchief?" The orc warrior woman in druidic dragonscale armor with dual blades strapped securely from her back asked.

"Ride behind me for now, Shaggara. Listen to the spirits around us. They will tell you when the time is right for you to make your move." Thrall responded, lending her a hand to pull her up to ride behind him.

Shaggara then took the hand of her shamanic instructor, and climbed on to the enormous riding wolf behind him, gripping the animal tightly with her knees. She made sure that her hands could be free should they be need to wield her swords.

The surge in strength and energy that she had felt in Ashenvale's forests, and even in the fields and woods of Hillsboro was gone in and among the volcanic earth and fiery magma streams of the Burning Steppes. In their places were the constant whispers and voices of the spirits of earth and fire that were like a ghostly din in her ears.

As the warchief spurred his own mount onwards towards the southward Blackrock Pass, she used the time to try and separate the voices of those elemental spirits out, but there were so many! They crossed the dry, scorched earth and it cried out for the pain of the wounds it had suffered from the foolish actions of the mortals that lived on its surface. The spirits of fire too seemed to lament mournfully, though she couldn't understand why in this volcanic, fire charred region.

"How do you hear them?" She asked the shaman from behind him as the animal underneath them ran. "How do you separate out their voices? It's like having a crowd of people all talking to you at once!"

"Patience, and discipline." He responded. "Just like with other people. The elements here have been badly hurt and yearn for healing."

"What can we do to help?" She asked, remembering his earlier admonitions.

"It would take many shamans over a long period of time to ease their suffering." He replied. "Sometimes the best we can do is merely sit with them and listen, and do nothing to cause them to suffer further."

Overhead, the flight of black armored gryphons circled around and around and then drove southwards.

The force of death knights filled the sky above the Redridge mountains as they flew southwards. After observing smaller camps of orcs among the northern hills and rocks, it wasn't long before Lord Commander Arete observed the provincial capital of Lakeshire below them, a little fishing community on the west end of a sizable lake, the waters of which covered a large portion of the red rocks and hills of the Stormwind province. They flew high over and past the town in minutes, striking farther south.

Their orders had been simple and direct. Once they arrived, fly south and discover where Garrosh's forces were at, and to ascertain their current numbers. Then, if possible, see to the safety of the civilians in Lakeshire. Under no circumstances were they to attempt to engage them. The draenei exarch who had been present at the council table had been adamant that none of their forces should attempt to confront the Horde troops while the twisted warchief was leading them.

It wasn't in the death knight's nature to simply watch and walk away. It kicked against every instinct he had, but it had been his queen's orders. And against every conditioning, every dark impulse which had been thrust upon him in his transformation into a soldier of death incarnate, he loved his queen.

It still confused him and rattled him, but his beating heart ached for her when she wasn't near him. And when she was, she was like a shining beacon of hope and light to his tortured, and blackened soul. When he lay in bed next to her, the nightmares of his enslavement under the Lich King, long a staple of his existence, ceased. Her very voice, lyrical with her Sindorei accent, calmed him when she spoke.

She could order him into the twisting nether to destroy the fallen titan Sargeras himself and he would dive in headfirst with a smile on his face.

They passed over the hills to the south of the town. Arete noted large bonfires below them as they did so. As he passed lower for a closer look, however, it could be seen that they weren't made by orcs or tauren, but by the gnoll vermin that seemed to infest just about everywhere in the Eastern Kingdoms. The flight of gryphons passed over and beyond them.

They continued south past an Alliance watchtower which didn't appear to be manned, or, if it was, there were only a handful of troops that remained. They would have to be warned if there was time.

They drove further south until they came upon a bridge which connected this province with the more southerly one known as Duskwood. It was then that he and his men confirmed through hand signals to one another that they had made visual contact with the enemy.

Two columns of soldiers, all of them very large and muscular, heavily armored, and various shades of brownish green were marching north along the road. They were in the process of crossing the white trellised metal and wood bridge as the flight of death knights flew overhead.

Arete flew as low as he dared without being spotted to get a better look. There looked to be maybe a thousand such troops, half as many as was expected. Something else didn't appear right from the description Admetius had given them. He passed over them again. None of the Horde troops had horns unless they were on their helmets, and none of them had the azure skin or long pronounced tusks characteristic of the darkspear trolls. The only race he saw represented among Garrosh's army were orcs.

Seeing everything he needed to see, he gave hand signals to his men to circle back towards the tower they had passed. Garrosh's forces would reach it within a few hours, he was certain. Making more hand motions on their approach, he signaled that he wanted only a dozen of his death knights to land at the tower and evacuate the people there. He and the rest of the flight would move on towards the town.

Speeding northwards, the flight of death knights and their gryphons dropped towards the town's main street which ran from the stone bridge over a narrow section of the lake along a strip of buildings and shop fronts next to simple fishing docks.

Women and children on the street began to scream and run as more than a hundred ebony armored knights dropped from the sky into their town. A few brave men took up whatever they had at hand as weapons; hammers, broom handles, and sticks. There were a few men with swords that looked to be some kind of constabulary that took an unpracticed stance against the new intruders.

Arete dismounted from his war mount immediately upon landing and, without drawing his own deadly two handed weapon demanded from the nearest such armed man, "Who's in charge here?!"

The man he addressed looked as though he might wet himself at the sight of the soldiers of death, but he appeared to draw out his courage and answered, "Magistrate Solomon in the town hall." He pointed to a building nearby. He then attempted to demand answers from the death knight, "Who are you men and why are you in our town?"

"The Ebon Blade." Arete answered him curtly and ominously before moving towards the building he indicated. "We're here to keep you alive."

The irony of it struck Arete as strangely amusing.

"Wait, you can't just go in there!" Another man shouted, emboldened by the first.

Arete drew himself up and glared at the speaker, his eyes blazing with the pale blue of deathly magics. The owner of the voice, a younger muscular man who carried a sword and wore some kind of an official uniform, shrank back from the death knight's cold stare, terror gripping his features.

"Hmph." Arete grunted, and then proceeded towards the town hall.

The building was laid out, unsurprisingly, much like the administrative building of Southshore had been as he stormed through the door of the structure. It appeared that the Alliance architects seemed to have very little imagination when it came to establishing towns and settlements. He walked past the protesting, terrified secretary at her desk and into the main hall where a large group of people stood, waiting to have their petitions heard.

"Magistrate Solomon!" He called out over the people, his voice carrying loud and strong throughout the hall.

The meeting hall immediately fell silent to the new, darkly powerful intruder.

"Who…?" A balding man up in front of a podium asked. What hair remained on his head was mostly gray as was his beard. He wore a wrinkled white shirt which looked to have been expensive once upon a time under a brown leather vest. A monocle was held in his right eye.

"There is a force of Horde troops approaching Lakeshire from the south. My men and I are here to evacuate your people to safety." Arete told him, keeping his explanations short for the time. "They will be here before dawn."

The Magistrate took this news and considered it. "We were told Stormwind had fallen almost two weeks ago. Who sent you?" He asked, eying the knight's unusual armor and sigils.

"Her majesty, Queen Sylvanas Windrunner of Lordaeron." The death knight responded.

The look of surprise and confusion at name of Arete's queen played out over the man's strong but elderly features. "I don't understand." He finally said.

"You don't need to. All you need to do is get your people ready to move with only what they can carry. Are there caves or shelters nearby where the townspeople can hide?" Arete responded.

"Er," He tried to respond thinking it through. "There is the old rethban mine in the hills to the north of us. It used to be infested with gnolls, but they've since been cleared out as far as I know."

"That will do. Get your people ready to move. You have an hour. My men will escort your townspeople there." Arete told him in no uncertain terms.

"Yes, of course." The magistrate replied.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

 _Shag-ga-ra…_ A grind, earthy voice whispered in her head as she fought.

The Blackrocks hadn't been interested in talking. Shaggara's twin blades dispatched the last of the gray skinned orc warriors that had mocked and insulted Thrall and his clan. Around her, the Frostwolf warriors had done their fair share of the grim work as the corpses of the remaining Blackrock camp lay strewn across the small low valley between the rocky hills.

The camp had been a more permanent military settlement, a base from which the Blackrocks could launch raids into the human province from the natural fortifications of the hills. Wood and hardened mud yurts bearing the colors and standards of the rebel clan surrounded a central fire pit. Empty wooden cages were found off to one side, their previous inhabitants no longer resident, although old human remains had been observed in the camp's dung heap. The flickering light of the bonfire which burned in the middle of their makeshift settlement continued to burn brightly, illuminating the night's darkness.

In spite of the Frostwolf victory, Thrall's expression was sour as he contemplated the fallen orcs. "This did not need to happen." He said in frustration. "They could have been allies."

The warchief had dispatched his own fair share of the hostile clan as well, including not a few warlocks. But his face and disposition told everyone present that he took no pleasure in it even as they moved through the bodies to make sure the Blackrocks were dead.

"They dishonored our race. This was the only way." Shaggara told him.

"Was it?" Thrall replied with a question, surveying the corpses.

 _Shag-ga-ra…_ The voice spoke again.

Her adrenaline high, she almost ignored it but then stopped herself as she recognized the voice of an earth spirit speaking to her. She forced herself to stop and sheath her swords, pulling back from the battle rage that had taken hold of her. She closed her eyes to clear her thoughts and mind from the distractions without and within and focus on the rumbling, deep voice.

Thrall's expression changed completely as his head turned to look directly at her, but he said nothing. The spirit called her name, not his. Others of the Frostwolves who were shamans also turned to look at the Warsong orc warrior woman in surprise.

Shaggara tried to calm herself and listen to the voice. Not knowing what else to say in response, she said simply and directly, "Speak, spirit. I am listening."

 _He comes… He comes with heavy boots upon us from the south…_ The spirit told her. _The defiler comes… You must stop him…_

Shaggara's mind raced as she understood what the earth spirit's message meant.

Her eyes flew open as she looked to the warchief. "I have to go."

Thrall nodded to her his understanding. "Take my mount. Draw him away from his troops. Do what must be done." He instructed her gravely. "Remember, you are never alone." He then said, motioning to the ground, the fire burning in the center of the camp, and the stars above.

She drew her fist to her breast in a salute to the shaman, and then ran for the white wolf which they had rode in on and vaulted onto the back of it. The animal responded to the movement and motion of her body immediately as she leaned into it. The wolf turned at her command and it leaped forward and away.

The throng of townspeople moved up the road north out of Lakeshire carrying satchels, bags, and whatever else they believed they couldn't do without. They had been joined by half a dozen others, a few soldiers, their commander and his wife from the tower the dark knights had observed from the air. These latter had to be carried on gryphon back by the soldiers of death and were badly shaken by the experience when they dismounted to join the rest of the evacuees.

Arete and several of his men went ahead of the townspeople to scout out the path which led to the caves the magistrate had told him of. They discovered quickly that there was no actual road or even dirt path which led through the hills and natural crevices in the rock to reach the old mines. There was however a natural grassy set of cliffs that overlooked the town that were wide enough and stable enough to bring the people across.

But then there were the gnolls.

As the small squad of death knights moved across the route they meant to bring the townsfolk through, they were set upon by the small, badger-like humanoids that attacked without warning out of the darkness. Bright bolts of electricity struck at the dozen or so warriors so at home in the darkness of the night, and half sized, furry creatures wielding swords, clubs and shields sprung at them snarling and dripping saliva from canine like fangs.

The gnolls Arete knew of were intelligent enough to learn how to use metal weapons, magic, and even speech but their own natural ferocity and territorialness made it impossible to negotiate with them peacefully. They were like half sized furbolgs with bad attitudes and not half as reasonable. Their nomadic camps could be found all over the Eastern Kingdoms, and they were just as much a nuisance in one province as another to Alliance or Horde alike. The only effective way to deal with them was as vermin. You had to exterminate them.

That sat just fine with Arete as his own runed blade proved again and again why he and his men were still called "death knights". He swung his blade gleefully and with joyful, sadistic abandon as the blood from the foul creatures splattered across his armor.

The dying screams of the little vermin fueled him and his men to even greater depths of cruelty and gave their twisted, dark conditioning an outlet they rarely were able to make use of in this new world they had been thrust into. Gnolls began to bleed from their eyes and ears as he wielded his terrible powers against them, their screams a kind of lullaby to him.

In truth, the Lord Commander of the Knights of the Ebon Blade had, once upon a very long time ago, been a paladin of Lordaeron. Like many of his brethren, he had gone into the plaguelands to try to both fight the scourge and relieve the suffering of those afflicted. But the more he spent time around the plague victims, the more the frightened and suspicious people who remained in the cursed provinces rejected him as though he himself would spread it to them. He and others like him were shut out, hurt, and betrayed by those they had come to serve and save. The Holy Light which he had been devoted to and loved all of his life had abandoned him.

And then the plague did finally take hold of him and he died… for a time. His memory after that was of the Lich King enslaving his soul and granting him the grim, powerful magics of eternal, infinite death itself. With the state of disillusionment and abandonment that his soul had been in, especially after death, he took his new twisted mission with a kind of zeal. The Scourge masters, controlled by the Lich King, tortured and tormented his mind and heart to rid it of all compassion, weakness, and fear. That conditioning instilled in him an aggressive need to harm and kill like an addict in need of a fix, and through it he wielded an overwhelming power in undeath he felt that the Holy Light had never granted him.

But then the Lich King betrayed his brothers and himself as well, and he was left to recover what pieces of meaning and purpose he had left in the undeath he had been granted. And he was not alone in this. Living humans, taurens, elves, orcs, the ranks of his brother knights had been composed of powerful heroes and warriors from across Azeroth who had, for one reason or another, found themselves bound to the Lich King's service. They banded together to form the Knights of the Ebon Blade, a brotherhood of commonality, a family to accept each other when no one else was likely to, and a weapon of vengeance against the evil that had enslaved and betrayed them.

Ironically, it had been a paladin, the same paladin that had brought his own Argent warriors to the service of Arete's queen, that had been the catalyst for his and his brother knights' freedom. In a strange way, he owed that freedom, and perhaps even the life he now possessed to that paladin, and by extension, the Holy Light which had abandoned them all to the darkness.

That need to cause harm saw itself fully satiated in the cruel and sadistic ways he and his men wielded their blades and magics against the gnolls. They carved a path across the edge of the cliffs that lay strewn with mangled, dismembered, and imploded gnolls and their respective organs. It forced a wicked and malevolent grin across his face as he observed their handiwork.

But even as he did so, a feeling, a voice long dormant within him kept creeping up in the back of his mind. No, not his mind as he tried to understand the distracting nuisance. It came from the part of his beating heart which had been stone cold for so many years but had been reawakened and reborn within him.

 _You are more than this_. The voice whispered to him. _You don't have to be this man anymore._

And the strangest, most confusing thing about the feeling within him that urged restraint was that it had the lyrical, beautiful sound of his beloved queen's voice as it spoke within his heart.

 _This isn't the man who balked at using the plague on the children of Stormwind._ The voice persisted.

It grew more and more insistent within him and his malevolent smile faded as the reflection on the man he had been and the man he had become began to take hold of him.

 _Who do you want to be? What kind of man do you want to be?_ The voice asked him again.

The faces of the terrified people of Lakeshire flashed across his vision. They were not happy or joyous to see the men who had come to rescue them. He knew why. The aura of unholy death surrounded his men and himself. It was meant to make his victims scream in fear and panic before he gutted them.

But then the image of a dark haired little girl, so loved by the woman he treasured, seeing him as this instrument of cruelty and damnation flashed through his mind and it felt as almost a physical blow at the image of this same terror on her face looking at him. He didn't want the little girl looking at him like that. He didn't want any child looking at him like that, but especially not the child Sylvanas loved and doted on so fiercely ever since rescuing her from the hell that Stormwind had become.

His keen night vision seeing the landscape of fresh death around him as though it were broad daylight, he asked himself the same question. "What kind of man do I want to be?"

He then called out to his men. "Hold!"

His men immediately ceased, pausing instantly in whatever they were occupied with. They looked to their commander for further instructions, not understanding the reason for the order.

"Clean, quick deaths only. We don't serve the Lich King any longer. We can choose to be better than he conditioned us to be." Arete told them.

"Why?" One of the black armored warriors questioned, the bloodlust still in his eyes. "What is their life or death to us but our sport as long as we carry out our queen's commands?"

Their conditioning ran deep.

"What kind of man do you want to be, Aurelius?" Arete asked him, calling him by his name. "Do you still want to be the Lich King's slave, or the man you were before he took our souls from us?"

"I am no one's slave!" The golden haired human warrior exclaimed.

"You are if you continue to submit to Arthas' conditioning." Arete countered.

"What do the lives of vermin mean to you, Lord Commander?" Another of his men spoke up, never having heard his superior speak like that before.

"It has nothing to do with their lives, and everything to do with mine." He replied. "The queen called us all to take the higher path, and that is what I will do. I choose to be the sadistic butcher the Lich King made me no longer."

The words coming from his own lips surprised and confused Arete. He himself did not know from where they came within him. But in speaking them, the conviction behind them became stronger and he became more assured of their truth.

His men were silent for a time in the night, their targets dead and motionless on the ground around them. Finally, Aurelius responded crisply, "As you wish, Lord Commander."

They continued their path of slaughter across the edges of the cliffs, up into the hills, and down into the caverns of the old mines, but Arete refused to take pleasure in it again as he wielded his blade with deadly precision to effect quick ends for the creatures. Something profound had changed within him, and there was a warmth within his heart growing that had not been felt in many, many years.

He wanted to be the better man again; for his queen, for the little girl, and for himself.

Shortly afterwards, the frightened, rushed townspeople followed their trail of death into the rethban caverns. Dark knights with pale blue glowing eyes and stone cold faces guarded them from the lesser terrors of the night as they climbed up banks of rock and dirt. Expressions of horror gripped them as they observed and smelt their protectors' gruesome handiwork along the way. Young children whimpered in the night, the aura and coldness of death surrounding them everywhere.

From their vantage point on the cliffs, as the death knights kept watch over their charges, they observed bonfires being lit in the lower hills on the other side of the lake from the town. They would not have been visible from the streets of Lakeshire, but at their height above the town they could be clearly seen. They weren't the scattered small campfires of the gnolls.

Shaggara rode on through the high hills and south to where the provincial road system began. The stars in the night sky above her twinkled brightly, though no moon was to be seen by her eyes. The great white moon, Elune, as the elves called it had not risen that night, and she hadn't the time or patience to look for the one called the Blue Child.

She passed by a road venturing off to the east, a sign read in Alliance common, "Alther's Mill." But that was not the direction the earth spirits were calling her to and she directed her frostwolf onwards, and downwards towards the lake that slowly started to appear beyond the ridge of hills and rocks.

Slightly, subtly, she could feel the life of the sparse trees and brush which grew in the red colored rocky hills flow into her, adding to her own. She could then also feel the outrage that life had felt over hundreds of deathly intruders that had violated its sanctity with their presence. Cold, unholy black boots had marched over living grasses, tainting them with their presence. She knew the feeling of their presence very well, but also knew why they were there and what honorable role they had to play in preserving life from death.

The grass and trees would have to put up with them for the time being. Shaggara had bigger prey on her mind.

She raced the frost wolf down the road until she came to the town which had been emptied of all its inhabitants. No lights were on in any window of any structure of the lakeside fishing town. There was no movement.

 _Come…_ The earth spirit called her.

Taking one last look at the empty town, her canine mount sniffing and pawing at the ground, she moved on, crossing the great stone bridge that connected the northern mountain road to the southern highway. Blue pennants flying from poles on the bridge whipped around in the slight breeze that night as she passed.

The road south began to incline again into a set of low hills, and as the great frost wolf and its rider came up to the rise of the hills, an orange glow grew stronger and stronger against the darkness of the night.

 _He is there…_ The earth spirit warned her.

Pulling the wolf up short at a good distance from the source of the glow, she dismounted quietly behind a group of large boulders, well out of sight of the source of the glow. She scratched the animal behind the ears and talked to it kindly.

"Thank you, my friend. Go, find Thrall." She told the animal.

It looked back at her once with eyes the color of ice as if to say "are you sure?" When it was satisfied that she was, it then turned around, and raced off back down the road heading north. She watched it go quickly and silently, retracing its steps.

And then she was alone, without Gereth, without Thrall, without Guozhi, even without the faithful frostwolf. One orc warrior against the force of Horde troops she knew would be nearby.

When the frostwolf was out of sight, she turned her attention back to the prey she sought. Quiet and stealthy as a cat she crept closer among the rocks to the encampment of Horde troops on the other side of the red cliffs and rocky hills south of the lake to observe the scene. Several guards had been posted around the perimeter of the large encampment, all of them orcs like herself wearing the spiked armor of Garrosh's Kor'kron guards, and many if not most, her Warsong kinsmen by their facial features.

She crept along the rocks and boulders without a sound, stepping so lightly with both her hands and feet that she didn't disturb a single stone or twig that might lay on the ground. Her agility and grace at maneuvering around the Kor'kron surprised even her, as at times, she moved around and even in between the guards who appeared to notice nothing unusual. She could have eliminated them as quietly and efficiently as a master assassin had she wanted to. But they were not her target, and their deaths would only inform Garrosh of her presence before he needed to know.

Then, as she crept in between low boulders and brush on the edge of the camp, she saw the extent of the Horde encampment. Hundreds, though not thousands of warriors lay resting or sitting around the bonfires which had been lit across the hills and down across the highway which ran east and west across the southern half of the province. No tents had been pitched, and she recognized that they were not intending to rest long enough to make erecting shelters practical.

Off to one side of the camp had been piled the corpses of gnolls that had been slain. The orc warrior woman assumed they had been the previous occupants of the rocky hills which the Horde troops had taken for themselves. Then, scanning the scene in front of her, she spotted the warchief in the center of the camp. He stood erect and alone near one of the bonfires, wide awake while the men nearest to him rested at a distance.

Her sharpened ears caught traces of a conversation he appeared to be having with… himself? As no other person, orc or otherwise, that was near him was awake. Indeed, more than once, he appeared to be talking to his right hand, arguing with it and making demands.

If Shaggara had maintained any illusions about the warchief's sanity before this point, they had all been dispelled by the display the large, muscular warrior was giving. He continued to rage at himself, and eventually as she watched, still as a statue so as not to attract attention, it almost sounded like he had devolved into a wretched pleading.

Then Shaggara caught the flash of a golden white light emanating from that same hand.

 _He's arguing with the Triforce of Power._ She realized, and then the further realization came as well, _The imbalance towards power is driving him insane. The fool didn't know what he was getting himself and the rest of us into and now he reaps the whirlwind for it and drags us into it with him._

Next to the warchief on the ground she spotted the wooden, coffin like crate that the draenei exarch had spoken of. She sat and watched the scene for several minutes, looking for any clue as to what might be in the crate until a Kor'kron came up to it with a skin of water, pulled off the top and thrust the skin, nozzle first at one end of it.

 _It's a prisoner_. Shaggara's own feelings and suspicions were then confirmed for her. _He's kept Gereth alive, but why?_ To her knowledge, they had been slaughtering every human and Alliance member they had been encountering. According to the night elf, Shandris Feathermoon, Garrosh was taking no prisoners and leaving none alive in his wake except by oversight or lack of thoroughness.

Her own anger and fear for Gereth rose up within her, threatening to break the statue like stance she had adopted unconsciously on instinct. She wanted to rush in, kill Garrosh quickly, and free her mate from his confinement. But she couldn't, not yet. She fought her own raging, orcish emotions back down as she worked through the breathing exercises Guozhi had taught her, forcing her mind to let go and focus on the scene in front of her and to form a plan.

 _Destroy the defiler…_ _You must destroy him…_ The spirit of earth cried out to her angrily as she waited. She could feel the impatience of the spirits of fire emanating from the blazes her kinsmen had lit as well and it fueled the passions within her.

She took the fiery anger that she felt within her and used it, focusing and redirecting it to be forged into a tool she could use instead of one which would consume her. Then, respectfully to both spirits, bringing herself into a kind of calm, she imagined herself as one with both the earth and the flames. She became steady and strong, able to withstand anything like the earth. From the flames she forged and worked her passions into effective weapons. As she did so, the earth spirits and fire spirits which cried out to her became calmer and more respectful to her, recognizing within her a kind of kinship.

Warchief Thrall was right. She was never alone as the elements moved around her and made their presence known to her. The earth under her feet, the heat from the flames, the air rushing in and out of her lungs, even the cool mists carried on the air from the nearby waters of the lake. These joined the energies of nature from the wild grasses and brush, the insects and birds which she could feel sleeping in their nests nearby, even the black dragon hatchlings in their dens off to the east. They all fed her and surrounded her, reinforcing her with their own life's forces.

Garrosh had his army, and she had hers.

She whispered in response, "Patience, friends. Soon. We wait for the opportune moment to strike."

The question then came to her mind, _Why are they waiting here? Orc troops can march for more than a full day without need of rest if necessary. There couldn't have been more than a token force of soldiers in this province to resist them. They could have torched the town by now and rested in its warm ashes to continue north._

In the east, the sky began to lighten to a purple and then a light lavender. Soon, it was streaked with red, orange, and gold as the sun began to drive away the darkness. The cover she had taken depended on the cloak of darkness the night had brought her, and she crept away as silently as she came, plans forming in her mind.

With the golden rays of dawn, as she drew herself back up into the better covering of the larger boulders and crevices in the rocks of the hills, a sound like thunder in the distance came from the north. Knowing what that sound would be, she turned to look, her sense of sight as sharp as a hawk's she looked to the northern sky.

In the distance, a black speck in the sky grew larger and larger as it drew closer. The Kor'kron guards could not fail to notice the Alliance ship bearing down on them as the thrumming of its engines began to echo across the hills and canyons of the Redridge mountains. She expected an alarm to sound among the orcs any moment, and then she would have to move quickly.

Except it didn't. Many of the troops were roused by the noise, but they looked as though they were expecting it.

Something was very wrong as she turned her eyes back to the airship that should have been flying the blue and gold flags of the Alliance.

Instead what she saw were massive, red, twin zeppelin airbags carrying what looked like a spiked monstrosity of a ship flying through the air. The figurehead at its fore was a giant wolf's head with a massive cannon protruding from it. Six cannon turrets lined the top deck, three on either side, and rows of stationary guns lined both the port and starboard sides of the monstrous hull.

It was a Horde gunship, easily capable of transporting hundreds of troops and their mounts, and used for air support of ground forces. A single gunship could level a whole city in minutes if not brought down quickly. This one bore the flags and standards of the Dragonmaw orc clan that called the Twilight Highlands to the northeast of the Redridge Mountains their home.

A great cheer rose up among the Horde troops as it flew over the lake to where they were encamped, and coming low, dropped lines and ladders from which descended more orc reinforcements for the insane, genocidal warchief.

Shaggara swore as things became far more complicated than they were supposed to be. In the east, the golden sun rose slowly as the new day dawned.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

The additional orcs from the gunship swelled the ranks of Garrosh's ground forces by hundreds even further as the sun rose over the eastern ridges of reddish rock and earth. In spite of this, the gunship maintained its full crew complement as it hovered over the orc camp in the hills and smaller plain south of the lake.

Orc taskmasters and commanders went through the ranks of those soldiers still sleeping and began kicking them roughly, dumping water on their faces, beating them with sticks, and yelling at them to rouse them from their slumber. More than one such taskmaster had the beatstick taken and turned on him as the warriors rose in foul, angry moods.

When the warriors were upright, enraged, and assembled before him, their warchief gave the order, "Go! Destroy the human town! Burn it to the ground! Leave nothing alive! For the Horde!"

"FOR THE HORDE!" The warriors responded as one and then turned to obey, fueled by the rage the taskmasters had provoked in them and their own pounding adrenaline.

The huge, heavily armored greenish brown orc warriors swarmed across the red rocky hills and earth to the main highway that led north across the bridge to the town. Many of them took still burning firebrands or pieces of wood from the bonfires in their hands, taking their warchief's orders literally.

Garrosh watched them go, flowing around him like water around a rock in the river, but did not yet move to run with them. They would not need his power for this simple task, he was certain, even though the relic within him longed to be unleashed once more.

 _I am your master, not you mine._ He thought towards it. _I decide when to strike with you and when not to._

He looked down towards the wooden crate which sat on the ground near his armored boots. It had been discovered in the human barracks on the west side of Elwynn Forest in a storage room. It was a simple, rough cut wooden box about six feet long and two wide. Just the right size to bury one of them in. It made a good container in which to hold his still chained prisoner rather than dragging the human across the roads by his chains. Breaking his legs had kept the plaything from running, but it had created the added complication of needing to carry him everywhere.

The traitor bitch's plaything had rarely stirred in his coffin, but took the gruel and water he was fed twice a day, and Garrosh had considered several times just reducing both box and contents to ashes and finding some other way to bait the warrior woman. But he didn't know if it was his own inclination or the inclination of the relic embedded in his right hand, and he refused to take action until he was certain it was his own will. The broken plaything might also still serve as leverage against the bitch.

If she would show up.

It had been two weeks or more since his capture. He assumed that she would have been near by her plaything and come quickly to his aid, but that hadn't happened. Either she didn't know Garrosh possessed the human, or else she didn't care.

But a woman does not scream out a man's name like that unless she cares like a mate, the warchief had reasoned, remembering the encounter in Ashenvale. It was a disgusting thought that an orc would choose to mate with a soft, pink skinned human like this, but he had known a few sexual deviates among his people in his time. Most of the time, he didn't care how they amused themselves as long as they fought well and didn't pollute the Horde with weak, bastard, half-breed offspring. Those that were born were disposed of on his orders when discovered, and if the mother was of his own Warsong clan, she would join it.

Thus, by his reasoning, she hadn't known yet. He had let the one night elf druid escape from Darkshire days ago with his report to see if word would get back to her and draw her to him. He did not care what kind of a deviate she might be. She was a strong warrior, he had seen, the strongest and fastest female warrior he had ever seen, and he wanted strong offspring. He would order her to give them to him and she would obey whether she enjoyed it or not.

As for the plaything, he would give the human another day or so…

"Garrosh Hellscream!" A female's voice called out to him from in between large red rocks to the west of him as the last of his men funneled out towards the highway and across the bridge to the town's destruction.

He turned to look at the direction it was coming from. Then he smiled.

"Garrosh Hellscream, I challenge you!" She shouted louder, drawing two swords from her back keeping them in a battle stance, one held a greenish aura of energy around it. The other seemed plunged in darkness and shadow.

"No!" Garrosh responded menacingly, in a lecherously playful tone. "I want you alive, though I would accept the Mak'Gora if it meant seeing you without your armor!"

The warrior woman sneered at him and spat. "You dishonor our traditions! You bring nothing but crime after crime upon our people's heads!" She shouted at him. "You are not worthy of being warchief!"

He laughed at her. The woman had spirit and fire, he gave her that.

"Come to me, bitch! Come to your new mate!" He ordered, putting the force of the relic's power behind the words.

But she didn't move.

The expression on her face was one of disgust and she spat once more. "GO TO THE NETHER, YOU SPAWN OF GROMMASH'S WHORE!" She bellowed back at him.

Enraged he roared at her, spittle flying from his mouth. She dared to defy him?! How did she defy his command?!

He looked towards his own right hand which began to blaze brightly with it's energies, the apex triangle of the mark glowing brightly and solid in contrast to the other two which remained outlines. It burned and raged in his hand as though something were causing it to riot within him.

Why wasn't it working on her?!

And then, as he looked towards the warrior woman again in confusion he saw a similar triangle mark burning brightly on the back of her left sword hand. Staring at it, even from that distance, he could see clearly the solid triangle which had formed in the bottom left corner of the mark.

He then tore off the lid to the crate to expose the weakened, broken mage plaything and the nightlight he had mocked so back in the Alliance barracks. It too blazed with a solid triangle in the lower right corner of the mark.

What did it mean?! Three relics? Three bearers?! How many more were there? And what did the bitch's relic do that the plaything's or his did not?

"WHAT IS THIS?!" He bellowed.

"Judgment day, Garrosh Hellscream." The plaything spoke from his crate weakly.

"What was that, again, filth?" Garrosh turned his attention to the wretch.

The thing in the box sputtered and coughed as it continued, "You've been found guilty of atrocities against the people of Azeroth, and..." He gasped for air painfully. "And now the people of Azeroth sentence you to death."

Garrosh had drawn in a breath to laugh at the fool, but then nearly choked on it. The plaything had disappeared from his crate in the blink of an eye, leaving his enchanted chains behind in the empty wooden box.

"ARRGHHHHH!" Garrosh roared in rage and then charged the orc warrior woman who had challenged him.

The orc army swarmed across the stone bridge and into the town, throwing torches and smashing windows. Kor'kron guards ran into shops and homes looking for someone to kill, but they found no one. Fires began to burn and rage around them as their zeal for destruction and unsatiated bloodlust made itself manifest.

And then the fires started to die down almost as soon as they had begun as an unholy icy chill crept stealthily across the hills and into the very earth that Lakeshire had been built upon. It went under and around the invading warriors as they spent their rage on the structures and crept up into their very souls with the chill of death. The chill spread out into the water of the lake, freezing the surface to solid ice.

On the cliffs above the town, a single knight in ebon black armor with raven black hair and beard stood up from where he had been kneeling next to a similarly outfitted dark gryphon. His outstretched hand glowed pale blue with an icy flame that he had spread across the landscape towards the town and its invaders. He would not see another human settlement burned to the ground by these savages.

"And what of these orcs, Lord Commander?" The fair haired Aurelius asked, a sarcastic and somewhat insubordinate tone to his voice. "Do we coddle them too? Sing them sweetly into death's embrace while we run our blades through them?"

The images of the civilians, men, women, and children these creatures had slaughtered mercilessly in Stormwind flashed through Arete's mind and the rage built up within him at the thought as he mounted his war steed. But this rage and anger was not born of the Lich King's twisted conditioning to bloodlust. It was born of blood of the innocents which had cried out to him that day demanding justice be done.

He spoke crisply and professionally as he gave his orders to them in response. "We are still outnumbered ten to one. Look for the standards and sigils of the Frostwolves that ride from the north road. They will meet us soon. Remember they are our allies, not our prey. But as for this lot," He then drew his lethal runed blade from its scabbard and finished menacingly, "death to this scourge."

"As you command, Lord Commander." Aurelius responded, then took up the cry, "Death to the Scourge!"

The other Death Knights, dozens of them, picked up the cry until it shook the hills and struck terror into the hearts of all within earshot, "DEATH TO THE SCOURGE!"

Then over a hundred black gryphons launched themselves high into the air and then dove down like avenging angels of death towards the orcs rampaging through the town. The talons of the gryphons dug into the shoulders of their prey impaling them and hoisting them high into the sky over the rocks and boulders of the hills and then releasing them to have the orc warriors' bodies smashed against the hills.

Guns began to ring out from the Horde airship that hovered over the town and artillery shells flew viciously towards the vengeful knights. The death knights flew out of the way, but the Dragonmaw gunners persisted, filling the early morning sky with belching smoke and small arms fire in the attempt to bring the airborne warriors down.

Arete then motioned for his men to dive again towards the town. They would go to ground and engage the orc warriors on foot. Over a hundred black armored knights rained down upon the confused and unsettled Horde soldiers, dark blades and equally dark talons slashing and impaling the brownish green skinned soldiers.

Garrosh's troops panicked in confusion as the aura of death enveloped the town with its despair and anguish, and their comrades disappeared into the sky never to be seen again. Then one orc began to scream helplessly in pain as his own blood began to boil within him and excrete through every orifice in his body. Then another began to bleed, and another. And then they knew nothing at all as runed, two handed weapons severed their heads from their bodies.

Orcs found themselves choking, lifted off their feet by unseen and unholy forces as the life drained out of them until their corpses dropped lifeless to the ground. Arete moved from orc to orc, dealing death swiftly and without mercy as these had shown no mercy to Stormwind's innocents. He held those images of slaughtered children and women firmly in his mind as he struck blow after blow, caring nothing for his own safety. More and more fell before him as the warmth that had grown in him earlier in the night began to spread at the thought of bringing justice to those who had died. This was retribution for them.

And then, in the midst of the ebon blade's advance, a battle cry came from the northern road as huge orc warriors in heavily furred northern battle dress riding frosty white wolves raised their axes in challenge crying out, "FOR THE HORDE! FOR AZEROTH!"

They were led by a single ghostly white wolf that charged into the midst of the conflict and then in the blink of an eye shifted into the form of an orc warrior in the leather and mail armor of a shaman of his people bearing a great black hammer that he wielded with deadly force. The shaman cried out to the elemental spirits around him and bolts of lightning shot from his free hand, arcing from one enemy warrior to another. His eyes were sad but hard as he fought against the spike armored Kor'kron, knowing that many of them had sworn to obey him too once upon a time.

Overhead, the individual gunners of the Horde airship rigged their weapons with scopes and began carefully aiming into the raging chaos that was the battle for Lakeshire. One death knight went down, a shell lodged in his head that he had not seen coming. A frostwolf dropped nearby, forcing its rider to fight on foot. They continued to fire into the throng of combatants, occasionally taking out one of their own by mistake, but it couldn't be helped.

Thrall, seeing what was happening looked up to the airship and began to cry out to the winds and spirits of the air to disrupt the craft. Then he saw something in the northern skies that made him rethink his plan. The Dragonmaw gunship would soon have enough of its own problems to worry about as the warchief turned his attention back to the battle on the ground.

"Bring her up high and close, lads!" A dwarven voice rang out across the main deck of the _Skybreaker_. "Broadside the bloody Horde monster!"

The Alliance airship flew in swiftly, those on the other ship unable to hear its approach for the din of their own engines and their attention on the fighting taking place on the ground. The massive flying galleon drew up higher in the sky than the Horde aircraft within a quarter mile of it, casting a massive dark shadow across the landscape.

"Fire!" Muradin ordered as the _Skybreaker's_ guns came into position.

The entire airship rocked in the sky with the force of the guns discharging their weapons. Heavy shells flew in the air, screaming as they rained down against the sides of the monstrous Dragonmaw ship.

The sniper fire from the Horde craft ceased as explosions rocked the decks and cracks appeared in the reinforced wood and steel hull, and the pilots of the craft attempted to right her to deal with the new airborne threat.

"Reload all guns!" The dwarf cried out across the bridge of the aircraft.

"While the gunship's recovering, bring her in low so our troops can join the battle!" The voice of an elven queen ordered.

Muradin nodded, "Aye, your majesty!" He then turned to the gnome pilots of the craft. "You heard the Lady, lads! Take her down and drop off our passengers!" The dwarf then pulled down a metal, inverted cone with a wire mesh on it and spoke into it, as he did, his voice rang throughout the ship. "All ground forces, prepare to go!"

Warriors in gold and silver plated armor rushed to the main deck, as did the remaining forces of Stormwind, the rangers of Silvermoon, and all of the armed men and women who had answered the call of the queen of Lordaeron to fight. Lines and ladders were dropped over the sides as the craft came in low over the town, creating vortices of wind across the water and landscape from its rotors.

Sylvanas then ran to join the Silvermoon rangers that were assembling on the deck. Her bow appeared in her hand as she did so.

"And just where do ye think, you're going?" Muradin questioned her as she did.

"Where I belong! In battle with my rangers!" She answered, turning back to look at him as though the answer was obvious.

"Hold up a bit then!" Muradin called her. "We've still got a gunship to worry about and it's remaining crew. We may need some light and deadly archers, if ye don't mind, your majesty."

Sylvanas' eyes turned towards the Horde ship that was slowly recovering from the first assault and coming about. It wasn't any different from other such craft that she herself had ridden on and even commanded in previous engagements. It would take more than just a single salvo from the _Skybreaker_ to bring her down.

"We canna' bring her down over the town or else she'll wreck the place and kill our own people. We've got to get her over the lake." Muradin further explained.

Sylvanas nodded in understanding. "We'll take care of it." She told him, and then went to join her warriors.

"Aye. The light go with ye then, your majesty!" He called after her in his dwarven brogue.

Garrosh ran at Shaggara at his full, relic enhanced speed, intending to slice her in half with a single stroke of Gorehowl's blade. He then found himself smashed into the face of a boulder as Shaggara stepped out of his way faster than was orcishly possible. Her blades struck for his back as she did, but though dazed, he quickly recovered and batted them out of the way with his own axe.

She whipped around with them, striking him hard and fast, though he blocked each strike with his axe as fast as she could swing them. He looked confused for a split second, not having fought an opponent like her before, but then recovered as the look in his eyes told her he was beginning to understand what his real chances were with brute strength and fighting skill alone.

Shaggara glared at him, a fierce passion in her eyes as she struck again and again like a whirlwind of steel. His axe and heavy armored gauntlets only just barely caught her strikes as the muscled orc warrior sized up his new opponent and her fighting style. She fought aggressively, looking for any opening in his defense and sending the sharp metal of her blades to it.

Then a wave of force caught her and threw her backwards from him. As she landed she caught the empty palm of his free hand extended into the air as though he had struck with it. She rolled away quickly from where she landed. The next thing she knew a ball of fire struck the ground where she had been hard, scorching and blackening the earth.

Without thought, she bounded to her feet and pointed the Sword of Mastery towards him. A bright bolt of green energy erupted from the blade and slammed into the warchief, knocking him backwards but not off his feet. She moved quickly from there, never standing for more than a split second in the same space as ice formed across the ground attempting to grab her and hold her in place. The next thing she knew was missiles of pure arcane energy flew towards her as she leaped for the next landing, and instead of dodging them in midair, the Sword of Mastery appeared to respond of its own accord as she brought it around to bat them back at the surprised warchief before she landed in a roll and sprang to her feet again.

They struck him hard with a force that he had intended to bring her down with, and knocked him off of his feet, leaving blackened burn marks across his shoulder armor and bare, browning green, muscled chest.

Shaggara then pressed her attack, leaping for his downed form and struck with her blades. The tip of the Sword of Mastery bit into his side, opening a gash, and he howled in pain and confusion as greenish orc blood began to flow from the wound.

Shaggara did not wait, but continued to strike at him, opening up new gashes in his muscles and skin with the silvery blade glowing with a living green energy until he threw her off of him, bringing Gorehowl around in a rage to strike back at her, but she dodged him, her reflexes like a jungle cat's.

"NO!" He bellowed in anger. "I AM GARROSH HELLSCREAM!"

And then the dream which she had weeks ago came to life as the muscled, bloody orc warrior began to grow in size. Giant dragon like wings erupted from his back as he towered over her. His eyes burned with an unearthly, demonic red light as the golden white energies from the Triforce of Power blazed across him, effecting his transformation into the unholy demon she had seen in her vision.

An irrational fear began to overtake her as she found herself reliving the horrid nightmare.

The gigantic orcish monster in front of her opened his mouth and white hot fire came spewing forth at her in a rage as he stomped his armored boots towards her relatively small form.

The combined forces of Lordaeron dropped into the midst of the battle, surprising the Kor'kron and other orc forces even more. The orcs' attentions were turned from the relatively few frostwolf clan warriors and the death knights that had harried them to the hundreds of more warriors that dropped from the unwelcome Alliance craft above and drove into them with swords, axes, and heavy two handed hammers. Among them, an aged, gray orc warrior and equally aged human paladin fighting side by side, cutting through the Kor'kron.

"For Azeroth!" The paladin cried out as they slammed into Garrosh's orcs, fighting their way through to join the death knights in their fight on the ground. The orc warrior Eitrigg took up the cry himself, and then the rest of his men of the Argent Crusade took up the call, crying out "FOR AZEROTH!"

As the Argent highlord Tyrion approached his counterpart in the Ebon Blade, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him in the heat of the battle. He blinked his eyes several times, trying to clear them but the image persisted.

A golden glow of light surrounded Lord Commander Arete even as he wielded his dark runed blade in the armor and power of a soldier of death, and a familiar, holy warmth emanated from his presence on the battlefield. And then, more to the paladin's surprise, light erupted from the cursed blade the death knight wielded, and blazed like a fire as he struck down the orcs with it.

It had so amazed the aged paladin that he nearly came to be a victim of a Kor'kron's axe until Eitrigg buried his own in the orc's skull. "What's wrong with you?!" The gray skinned orc warrior demanded from his friend.

"Look!" Tyrion said, pointing a gilded silver gauntlet at the death knight.

Eitrigg saw then what the paladin had seen. He then told him, "Talk philosophy with him later then! Now, we fight!"

 _Indeed, I will._ Tyrion told himself as he brought his head back into the battle.

The Horde gunship brought its guns around to fire on the _Skybreaker_ even as she offloaded her fighting passengers. The Alliance airship's own turrets fired volley after volley at the Horde ship, explosions wracking the air around it.

Then the massive zeppelin returned fire. Dozens of artillery shells launched from the monstrous airship towards the Alliance craft, smashing into the reinforced decks and hull plating, exploding on impact. It was only through divine providence or ridiculous luck that none of them struck the vertical rotors that kept the airship in the sky.

The dwarves had to right their own ship quickly and bring her back up into the sky as the last of the ground forces dropped from the lines and into the fray below. The great propellers drove the _Skybreaker_ back up into the air to meet the dangerous Horde craft.

"Make for the open lake, lads!" Muradin shouted to the gnomish pilots as they turned the flying galleon towards the open waters of the expansive Lake Everstill. "Draw the bastards over the deep water!"

The great airship then turned as though fleeing and moved quickly east towards the larger lake. The orc and goblin pilots of the Horde ship turned their own craft in pursuit, bringing it level with the Alliance airship.

Orcs on the deck of the wolf headed monstrous zeppelin then went to work on loading the main forward cannon of the airship, bringing up a stockpile of shells, as their own craft fell in behind the blue and gold banners of the Alliance designed vessel. The gunners and pilots of the Horde vessel worked together to bring the Alliance ship into the firing path of the massive main gun which sat between the wolf figurehead's jaws.

Then the Alliance ship appeared to stop just over the eastern half of the lake, making the Dragonmaw gunners' jobs that much easier as they brought their own vessel in for the kill. It hadn't occurred to them why.

As the gunship came within range to fire, the next thing the Horde gunners knew was dozens of elven arrows protruding from various parts of their anatomy, and they fell where they stood, unable to hear the order to fire when it was given. They were unable to do anything ever again.

The Horde craft continued closer and closer to the Alliance ship, it's commander completely at a loss as to why his ship wasn't causing the airship to sink to the bottom of the lake as he brought his spyglass to bear on the gun emplacement. And then he saw the bodies of his men dead on the gundeck.

"Gunners to the main cannon, now!" He shouted orders to those around him.

Orcs ran across the deck in a race to obey as the momentum of the craft carried it forward, even as the goblin pilots tried to slow it down to keep from ramming it and dooming themselves, but the ship was never made to brake that quickly.

The captain of the Dragonmaw vessel ordered it to turn hard to port, bringing the port side guns to bear. If they couldn't blow it from the sky with the main guns, then they would broadside it with cannon fire at point blank range.

And then the alarm sounded. "We've been boarded!" Several of the orc crewman cried out.

Dozens and dozens of graceful elven figures in hooded cloaks and leather and mail armor leaped from the Alliance ship, landing on the deck. They were shooting arrow after arrow at the orc and goblin crewmen that did not miss as they flew through the air to land on the deck.

"Blood elves!" The orc crewmen cried out again as they responded with axes, hand guns, and whatever else they could get a hold of to repel the boarders. "Traitors!" Others shouted before the elves cut them down with their arrows.

Among them, a single elven ranger took half a dozen more of her warriors with her and they fought their way viciously deep into the zeppelin's hold where the explosive ammunition was held. Sylvanas knew the layout of these zeppelins well, and knew what their true weak points were.

The orc gunners couldn't obey the command to fire from the battery gun deck as they were all called up to the main deck to repel the blood elf rangers. The Horde vessel drifted closer and closer to the Alliance ship, nearly kissing it with its own hull before the pilots realized what was about to happen and did their best to bring it away from her.

The elven ranger squad led by Sylvanas reached the explosive storage, dispatching the guards quickly and efficiently. Then, producing several seaforium charges with delayed timers, courtesy of the _Skybreaker's_ own gnomish arsenal, they laid them in and around the ammunition and set them.

The elven rangers and their queen general then moved as quickly as was elvishly possible for them to move, as Sylvanas called out the retreat to her people. Instantly, and as one the blood elves that had boarded the ship leaped from the deck to the rigging, and from the rigging to the other ship that was still so close to her.

When they had all made it back across, the _Skybreaker_ pulled away hard from the Horde ship, being more maneuverable and quicker for her multiple rotors and powerful engines.

Two minutes later, a massive explosion rocked the internal holds of the Dragonmaw gunship, cracking and shattering the hull of the ship around it. The lines holding the twin zeppelin airbags of the ship broke free and the gunship fell from the sky in pieces, plunging into the lake beneath.

As the ship fell into the water, Sylvanas Windrunner watched it hit and break apart even further with satisfaction. Her rangers had done their work well, performing the operation flawlessly as she had expected.

The giant orc-like demon pounded the ground around him with his armored boots. The great green leathery wings that had erupted from his back beat the air, stirring up vortices of reddish dust and wind around him. The ground in front of the creature that had been Garrosh Hellscream was blackened and charred from the jets of flame that had poured forth from his tusked jaws.

Shaggara leaped out of the way of the oncoming flames as she regained her composure at the monster the warchief had become. Garrosh had grown to easily ten times the size he had been, towering over her as though she were a small child, not long from her mother's womb, and Shaggara was not a diminutive woman.

She launched herself again at him, attempting to strike the unarmored portions of his legs that she could reach with her twin swords, but the gusts of wind that his wings generated kept driving her backwards, and the dragon like fire that spewed from his tusked mouth kept her moving, leaping from point to point like a cat to stay out of the way of the flames.

"Give up, bitch, and face your fate!" Garrosh taunted her as he brought his much enlarged war axe to bear and swiped at her with it. "Kneel before your new master!"

Shaggara spat at him again as she dodged and rolled, but was unable to find an opening with which to launch a new attack.

"Your plaything is gone, woman. There is no one left to save you from me. You're all alone." The demon taunted again, laughing maniacally as it swiped again with its axe.

 _Alone?_ She questioned.

"That's where you're wrong, demon!" She threw back at him. "I am never alone."

Then, she called out to the elemental spirits around her, the earth beneath her feet, the winds gusting around her, the flames which still flickered from his fiery breath, "Great spirits of earth, flame, and wind come to my aid!"

Then the ground beneath them began to shake violently and the demon was thrown off balance. The vortices of wind that gusted powerfully blew back upon the demon's wings and pushed it backwards viciously. The flames rose up powerfully and attacked the demon, wrapping it in their searing embrace as a great hand made of red stone struck upwards from the earth beneath them.

"The elements of this world are always with me!" She shouted, as she herself began to shift and change, remembering the special gift Ysera had given her in the armor that she wore.

 _May it protect you as it protects me_. The emerald dragon's words came back to her once again as she focused on the otherworldly being that had been her first patron.

The green and purple dragonscales of her armor spread across her body as it grew larger and longer, her tusks lengthened into sharp fangs as her face elongated and great horns emerged from her forehead. Leathery violet and emerald wings burst forth from her own back as her gauntleted hands and armored feet lengthened and sharpened in razor sharp talons and claws.

The orc warrior woman had disappeared and in her place, the great emerald dragon, warden of the wild green nature emerged. She leaped into the air and struck at the foul demon that had so terrorized her world as it was held down by the elements it had forced to do its bidding. Jets of raging hot, green flame shot from her mouth as she drove into the beast with her talons.

She hooked her claws into the soft leathery flesh of Garrosh's chest, raking and shredding his green hide even further opening up new gashes. Her dragon's fangs latched onto his neck and drove deep, ripping muscle and tendons. The demon screamed as she tore away at the flesh, great jets of green fluids spraying across the rocks. Then she looked directly in its burning red eyes and unleashed a jet of searing green flame directly into its face. She held the creature there with her talons until her flames were expended while Garrosh's voice screamed in agony.

Then she released the creature and let it fall to the earth on its back. The elements of stone wrapped themselves around its appendages as she landed on its bloodied chest once more and shrank back down into the form of the orc warrior woman wielding the Blade of Nature's Wrath and Shadow Strike.

Standing over Garrosh's chest, staring into the blackened, bony husk that had been his face she saw that he was still not yet dead, regardless of the agony she had unleashed on him. Briefly glancing at the continued golden white glow of the triangle mark on his right hand, she chose to end it once and for all.

With her left hand she took the Sword of Mastery, flipped it around in her hand, and then drove it into the demon's chest where she knew its heart would be. Then, as it began to spasm violently, with the blade Shadow Strike, she cut of its right hand at the wrist with a great and forceful slash, watching as it dropped to the ground, lifeless. As it hit the ground, the otherworldly triangle which had imbedded itself into the hand released and emerged to rest, hovering just above the red earth by some mystical force.

When Garrosh's right hand had been severed, his body began to shrink once more until it was no more than the savagely ravaged, torn form of an orc, his face so disfigured and burned from the heat of the dragonflame that it could no longer properly be called a face.

But strangely, blind and dying, he was yet still alive as a soft moaning escaped his ruined and burned mouth.

She then pulled the Sword of Mastery from Garrosh's chest and raised it over the destroyed warchief's neck.

"For Azeroth." She said in a low voice, and then brought the blade down hard, severing Garrosh's head from his corpse, and the moans of agony from his throat stopped.

Garrosh Hellscream was dead.

Shaggara then turned to the golden white triangle which had rested itself just above the ground. The Triforce of Power had been freed from the grip of the twisted and evil warrior, just as he had finally been freed from its. She extended her left hand to it and touched it delicately. It then moved towards her outstretched hand and was absorbed back into her body, joining itself with the Triforce of Courage which had chosen her over all others.

Azeroth's newest nightmare was over.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Shaggara found Gereth not twenty yards from where he had been in the crate. He had "blinked" himself away from the warchief and across to a crevice in between two boulders that he had briefly seen when the warchief had pulled off the top of the crate.

Dirty, smelly, Battered from the orcs' treatment, emaciated from lack of food, and the bones of his legs having healed in the wrong positions, he looked every bit the filthy wretch Garrosh had accused all humans of being.

And he was still the best thing Shaggara had seen in a long time as she ran to where he lay in the reddish dust of the rocky hills.

"Gereth!" She called to him when she spotted him, forgetting the corpse of the beast she had slain for the moment.

"Shaggara?" He answered weakly.

She ran up to him and immediately went to her knees by his side. "Don't ever do that to me again!" She yelled at him before picking up his torso and embracing him fiercely. "You shouldn't have left me there! What were you thinking?!"

Dry coughs came as he tried to answer, "I was thinking… about how I almost lost both of you, and… and how I wasn't strong enough to… to do that again."

"How..." She was at a loss for words. An orc male would never have answered that way. "Damn human fool, don't ever leave me behind again! I don't want to have to keep scraping you up off the ground!"

Gereth smiled in response and said, "I love you too, Shaggara."

She gripped him more tightly for it. The truth was, she didn't know if she was strong enough to lose him either, but she'd never admit that to him.

In the distance, towards the town, the sounds of swords and axes continued to rage.

"We need… we need to get to the town." Gereth then told her. "We need to show the… the Kor'kron Hellscream's head to stop the fighting."

"You can't walk." She told him. "You need a healer."

"I don't suppose you've added… added that to your bag of… of tricks yet?" He asked, coughing as he did so.

"I don't..." Shaggara began to tell him "no", but then she didn't really know herself. She'd never tried.

With Ysera's armor and the Sword of Mastery she's gained several of the abilities only druids possessed, and Thrall had been instructing her in the ways of a shaman of her people. Both of these disciplines could use the magics of the elements and of nature to heal, but she didn't know how.

From nearby brush and a few scattered trees, the energies of the wild life flowed into her, replenishing her own strength and stamina. But was there a way to redirect it or share it with the human man she held tightly in her embrace?

She closed her eyes, slowed her breathing as Guozhi had instructed her in his meditation techniques, and focused on that energy within that was being shared with her. Internally, she brushed her own mind up against it, and, remembering again her lessons with Thrall, she respectfully asked for its help in healing her mate.

The living energy that flowed into her then began to divide itself and flow through her, using her arms and hands as its conduits. She could feel it passing into his frail body, repairing and restoring damaged tissues, bone, and muscle.

"Ah… Ahhhh!" Gereth began to cry out in pain as his legs straightened themselves, bone knitting itself back together.

But Shaggara held on to him, ignoring his cries and focusing on the flow of healing life that flowed through her and into him. Bruises faded from his face, muscle rebuilt under her arms, and the voice that he cried out with grew stronger and stronger.

"Alright!" He then cried out again. "That's enough! I'm fine!"

Shaggara then thanked the wild energy and drew it back from him. It then continued to circulate within her own body alone. She opened her eyes and released him from her embrace to see him fully restored to the strong, virile mage she remembered.

"That was the most painful healing I think I've ever received." He remarked, rubbing his newly healed legs.

"Did you expect sweet and soft from an orc?" She asked gruffly.

He looked at her and smiled. "We don't have time for that now, my dear. We have a battle to stop."

The fighting in Lakeshire raged on. The _Skybreaker_ hovered overhead, but its crew took no further action against Garrosh's forces on the ground for fear of striking their own people. Sylvanas and her rangers however had gone over the side to join the rest of her people on the ground.

Elven arrows joined death knight swords and paladin war hammers, Frostwolf orc axes joined Stormwind blades and shields as they fought back to back and structure to structure against the Kor'kron and the reserve forces Garrosh had called up. The wooden fishing docks and stone main street of the town were slick with the different colors of blood which had pooled together from the fallen on both sides. The aura of death was everywhere.

And then, as the sun rose high towards its apex in the sky, the voice of an orc female bellowed from the cliffs across the small finger of lake water from the town, "GARROSH HELLSCREAM IS DEAD!" Her voice echoed between the rocks and hills and was amplified by the natural geography of the landscape.

She repeated the message several times, and as the combatants slowly began to turn from their fighting to see where it was coming from, they saw the orc warrior woman, sword in one hand, and the disfigured severed head of a large orc warrior lifted up in the other.

Around the battle, the voices of ground commanders on both sides started shouting orders, "Hold!"

The fanatical Kor'kron guard, seeing the evidence of their maniacal warchief's demise, stood down on the orders from their captains. Their loyalty to Garrosh Hellscream ended with his death. Perhaps not as surprising was the look of relief on the tusked faces of the elite orc warriors who had watched as their warchief had slipped further and further into madness.

And then, as the elite orcs observed the slayer of their previous leader descending from the hill. A cry was taken up among them to the great amazement of those humans and elves who had fought them only seconds before.

"Warchief!" The Kor'kron shouted in acclamation as Shaggara descended from the crest of the hill, Garrosh's head in her hand, a ragged human mage walking behind her.

"Warchief!" They continued to chant as she crossed the stone bridge.

"Warchief!" They saluted her with fists to hearts and took a knee as she passed.

And then the chant was taken up by those of the Frostwolf clan that still stood as they too, pressed fist to chest and knelt in great respect to the madman's slayer. "Warchief!"

She stood in the middle of the blood soaked street. Holding the disfigured head up high for all to see, she displayed the grim trophy as prove of her words and then let it fall to the ground with a sickening "crack."

"Warriors of the Horde!" She cried out, sword in hand, and every orc present turned his ear to listen.

"This battle is over! The fool who would lead you to your own destruction is dead! We stand down, now!"

And then a tall, balding orc shaman with regal bearing came up to her from among the other warriors, the great Doomhammer still in his grip. He put his hand on her shoulder and also declared, "According to our sacred traditions, you, Shaggara of the Warsong clan, are now warchief of the Horde."

He then took the knee himself and saluted her, saying. "You did what I should have done long ago."

In shock, and with her adrenaline running high, she nodded to him silently, accepting her new rank among the warriors of the Horde. She turned, looking around her at the hundreds of orc warriors that still remained on the battlefield as they knelt in fealty, then seeing the face of her mate. It carried both the expressions of surprise and pride across his fair bearded features.

Days later, the queen of Lordaeron returned to Silvermoon City to meet with her sister and her family. Vereesa, her two boys, and the little human girl were waiting for her as they sat in the same, comfortable, Sindorei parlor of Sunfury Spire, the sun itself shining brightly through the open windows.

One might have been forgiven for not recognizing the queen at first as she appeared near the ruby colored translocation orb in the spire. Gone was her signature hood and armor. Instead, she wore a regal, fashionable dress cut in the style of her people. A crimson robe, overlaid with the firebird sigils of the reborn embroidered in gold draped over her shoulders. Her golden blond hair had been braided in a conservative, dignified style which suggested both power and femininity. A thin golden diadem interlaced with truesilver in an elegant elven style adorned her forehead. She was the very picture of elven beauty and majesty.

As she strode into the parlor on golden sandaled feet, she was met with looks of surprise by her sister and her family, and then recognition. The little human girl stared at the statuesque elven woman in confusion until recognition spread over her facial features and a look of pure joy broke out as she cried out, "Mama!"

The little girl ran to Sylvanas crying out, "Mama! Mama! You came back! You came back!"

The elven queen caught her in her arms and raised her up into her embrace, tears flowing freely down her own face. "I came back, Ally. I will always come back for you." She promised the little girl, kissing the top of her dark haired head and embracing her fiercely with a love that only a mother could know.

She stood there with her adopted daughter in her arms for a long time, just holding her.

Arete was in his own apartment in Lordaeron City when a knock came at the wooden door. He had been troubled and confused for days since the battle for Lakeshire, and once his own duties were fulfilled he had shut himself up in his rooms, his very soul in turmoil. His black saronite armor of the Ebon Blade, repaired after the battle, was displayed on wooden stands and hooks made for that very thing in his apartment. Instead he wore only a white linen undershirt, soiled from his own sweat, and simple linen breaches as he sat in a wooden chair, contemplating the events and feelings of the battle.

"I wish to be left alone!" the death knight called out to whoever was seeking to breach his solitude.

His own men had been given strict instructions to only disturb him if the queen sent for him, or if there was an emergency that required his own attention. In either case, there would be no polite rap on the solid wood door like there was now.

"I can see that!" The voice of an aged human responded. "That doesn't mean you should be!"

He knew that voice, having spoken only briefly with him in Lakeshire after the fighting had ceased.

"What do you want, paladin?!" Arete then called back, though did not get up.

"To speak with you!" Tyrion Fordring called back. "Just for a few minutes of your time today. I leave for Hearthglen this afternoon."

Arete had respect for the Argent Highlord. Enough respect, he decided, that he would get up and open the door. He stood up from where he sat, and strode over to the wooden door, unlatching it and swinging it open.

In the door frame, the paladin stood without his armor. He had chosen to wear the silks and mageweave clothes befitting his rank as a nobleman instead, though these too were highlighted and embroidered with silver and gold threads.

Arete gestured for the paladin to enter his spartan apartment.

"What do you wish to discuss?" Arete asked letting out a tired breath, his voice weary and exhausted.

"I understand you were a paladin of this very city once." Tyrion began. "Is that true?"

This wasn't the conversation that the death knight had been expecting, but he answered him. "Yes, it _was_ true; a long, long time ago. The Holy Light abandoned me as it abandoned many of my brothers."

Arete wondered where the holy knight intended this conversation to lead to.

"People abandon us. Nations abandon us. Family, friends, and those we call brothers abandon us." Tyrion told him. "But the Holy Light never does… brother."

Arete stepped back from him, not understanding what he was saying. A twinge of fear crept into his heart, and strangely, it was also mixed with hope.

"Did anyone ever tell you the story of how Eitrigg and I met?" Tyrion asked him.

Arete tried to recall the bits and pieces he had heard. "The orc had been hiding on your lands and you had sworn an oath to keep his presence secret as long as he did no harm to anyone. Your people found out and tried to execute the both of you. The bishops of the church took the light from you and excommunicated you."

Tyrion nodded. "For weeks after that, I felt empty as though I had been abandoned even by the Holy Light itself, and that for upholding my oath and honor as its servant. But through it, I learned the most important gift of knowledge I have to give to anyone, especially you, brother."

"And what is that?" Arete asked.

"No one can take the Holy Light from you. The Holy Light does not leave us even in our darkest moments. We may not be able to see it, or feel its presence, but all we have to do is reach deep within ourselves and it will be there waiting for us." Tyrion told him. He then told him, "I saw the Holy Light rising within you during the battle, Arete. I saw it shining even as you wielded the power of death. It was the most amazing thing I have ever seen in my lifetime."

A single tear fell from Arete's eye as the paladin put into words the struggle the death knight was facing.

"I… I made choices at Lakeshire. It… it spoke to me, I think, with the queen's voice." Arete confessed, feeling more vulnerable than he had ever been. "I chose to walk the higher path she spoke of."

Then a look of respectful understanding passed over the paladin's features. "Your love and devotion to her awoke the Holy Light within you once again." He told him. "You chose the calling of justice and righteousness. This is the paladin's choice, not the death knight's."

Tyrion then asked him, "You know the story of the blade I wield, Ashbringer?"

Arete nodded. Every death knight knew the tale of the cursed blade that had been cleansed by the touch of the servant of the Light who stood now before him.

The paladin continued, putting his bare hand on the man's shoulder, "Even the most cursed instrument of death can be redeemed by the Light, brother."

The paladin's touch both soothed and burned as he laid his hand on the death knight. Part of his soul raged against it, and part of it welcomed the touch of the devoted servant of the light.

"So what do I do?" Arete then asked.

"I don't know what sacrament or ritual exists for such a cleansing and redemption as this." Tyrion confessed. "But if you wish, I'm willing to walk this path with you and we can discover it together." He then said, "Think about it, brother. You will always be welcome at Mardenholde Keep should you choose to continue this journey you began at Lakeshire."

His mind and heart awash with different emotions and at war with itself, he then told the paladin simply, "I will. Thank you for the invitation, Highlord."

The paladin then gave the death knight a slight, polite bow and left his presence.

In the weeks that followed the battle for Lakeshire, Anduin Wrynn and his surviving people returned to the ruins of the city of Stormwind. As they brought the passenger ships into the harbor, the only set of buildings that remained standing and even partly serviceable were those surrounding Cathedral Square, and the spires of the Cathedral of the Holy Light itself.

"We have a great amount of work to do, but we can rebuild. We've done it before, and we'll do it again." Anduin Wrynn, king of Stormwind, told the people who followed him back as they settled in to the abandoned buildings around the religious structure.

As the days wore on, and progress was made, albeit slowly, more people came to help. At first, there were dwarves who opened up the tram tunnels again, allowing for the flow of people and supplies into the ruined city. Then, elven ships from both Silvermoon and Darnassus came with craftsmen and architects to assist in the reconstruction.

And then one day, on the horizon, orc dreadnaughts appeared on the water. They came closer and closer to the harbor until they docked peaceably, throwing lines out to the harbor moorings. An orc commander disembarked and made his way to where King Anduin stood, assisting with the intensive labor in any way that he could.

The king stopped what he was doing and saluted the orc in the fashion familiar to them with his fist to honor the commander. The orc returned the gesture.

"Warchief Shaggara sends her respectful regards to you." The orc told him. "She sends this message; orcs destroyed your city without honor or provocation, now orcs will help you rebuild it as payment."

"I gladly and respectfully welcome the help she sends, commander." Anduin replied. "You and all of your men will always be welcome among us in this new Stormwind as long as I am king."

Gereth and Shaggara stood alone in the darkened pedestal chamber of the ancient structure which ran underneath Forest Song. They had discussed it for weeks and felt this was the only solution. No one else knew where they had gone, and no one would ever know what they were about to do.

"Fi." Shaggara said, running her hand over the palm and finger imprint on the pedestal.

The silver and blue image of the young woman appeared in front of them beyond the pedestal.

"Yes, mistress Shaggara. I am active. How may I serve you?" The artificial presence responded.

Shaggara took a deep breath and then replied, "We cannot keep the Golden Flame with us in the world above this temple. There is too much of a risk of another evil gaining the power of even one of its pieces. We need to put it, all of it, into a safe location where only Gereth and I can reach it if the need arises."

"A zelda came many years ago with the same request." Fi answered. "I recommended that it be placed in this world's sacred realm to guard it from unworthy bearers."

Shaggara shook her head, remembering their encounter with the green and purple dragon guardian of the Emerald Dream. "Ysera does not want it there. She believes it causes trouble in her realm. Is there anywhere else? Is there anywhere within this place here that would keep it safe?"

"There was an _alvus_ many millennia ago that stored this world's _trevirti_ in a vault within this facility before it was broken into and removed." The image of a diagram of the temple appeared in mist in the air before them marking the location of the Golden Flame's previous resting place. "There is a similar, undamaged vault in this location here." Another point on the diagram lit up, showing where the new vault was located. "Do you wish me to take the _trevirti_ and store it in this location?" Fi inquired.

Gereth and Shaggara looked at each other briefly before agreeing in unison, "Yes."

"Please extend your hands." Fi then told them.

They did so, and the silvery woman then touched the backs of both of them lightly with a fingertip. As she did, the silvery gold triangles emerged painlessly from the both of them, fusing together once more into a single, unified whole. The Golden Flame floated in the air in front of them for a few brief moments, and then dissolved into a bluish white mist of energy.

"Transfer complete." Fi then told them.

"No one is to enter this place again unless it is Gereth or myself on pain of death." Shaggara then told the image of the silvery blue woman.

"Command accepted." Fi replied. "Facility locked down. Orders to terminate all intruders to this facility with the exception of Shaggara and Gerethandron, effective immediately."

Shaggara nodded to the young woman. "We are done here. Go back to sleep unless someone breaks in."

"Going into sleep mode." Fi responded. "Now on standby." She said as her image faded from existence.

"And now what do we do?" Gereth asked, looking at his wife.

She put her hand to her belly, expanding with the life of the child growing within her. "Now, we go home."

THE END


End file.
